


An Opened Door

by anajoyy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: College AU, Extreme Shipping, F/F, F/M, First Hamilton fic, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy, Friday Updates, Gay, Hamilton - Freeform, Herc the grandpa, I may have to change this rating to explicit, Lams - Freeform, M/M, No one Major Dies, Oops, SHOOT SPOILER?, Smutty, adrienne de lafayette - Freeform, ah sorry, cursing sometimes, did I say gay already, everyone's flawed and lovable, extremely gay, he's not actually a grandpa, henry laurens the douche canouche, hopefully not too cringeworthy, i'm bad at ship names, is that a ship?, jeffmads - Freeform, laurens x hamilton, maria x elizabeth, not sorry, ok some minor deaths, repressed sexuality, saturday/sunday updates, ships, sometimes it's smut, sorry - Freeform, thursday updates, tuesday updates, upload dates in the next tags, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 35,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anajoyy/pseuds/anajoyy
Summary: John Laurens is returning for his second year at NYU, expecting it to be just as uneventful as the previous year.Alexander Hamilton received a full ride to NYU and is starting it, knowing nothing but his old flatmate.Gilbert Du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette snuck off to America to attend NYU at the request of his deceased parents.They all meet by chance--and by Alexander's indefatigable devotion to making them meet again--and enjoy a definitely eventful year (or more?) at NYU!





	1. Cold Cities and Warm (De-Caffeinated) Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hamilton fanfic so here goes nothing! For all other chapters except this one, I'll be posting vague summaries of the events in the notes so everyone knows what they're in for... Enjoy!

**(AN: Hey guys! This is my first hamilton fanfic so commentary is appreciated because I know it’s not the best! Just some notes though, I know that NYU dorms don’t have bathrooms for each dorm/suite, but it’s kind of essential to the plot, and the only college campus I’ve been to was set up the way I’m describing their setup, so just an FYI.)**

The first thing that I noticed about New York was that it was abnormally cold. 

Well, about as abnormal as something can be to me, but, then again, the normality of the climate came from the reference point of an island south of the Tropic of Cancer.

I’m reminded of my first thoughts of the mainland as I sit in a half-empty coffee shop, sipping a decaf latte. Usually, I wouldn’t be drinking such a pointless drink—the only upside of coffee is that it wakes me up, but decaf has none of those perks—but my old roommate insisted that regular coffee contributed to my issue with being up at 2 A.M every morning. 

Most of those late nights—early mornings, whatever—were spent applying for colleges. Even with such a top-notch brain as mine, college applications are hard. I’d figured that it wouldn’t be _too_ difficult, as I’d graduated at the top of my class and I’m three grades ahead, but the logistics of everything can get messy.

I’d come to the mainland (no, not to America, as technically St. Kitts is part of America—it’s a U.S. Virgin Island) with the help of my community, which was basically a push in the right direction without any actual plan on how to live.

The money they’d raised for me covered plane fare from my home to New York City, where they’d all expected me to thrive just because I was brainy. It didn’t quite work that way. For the first two weeks, I survived off of 200 dollars. I used most of it for food and ended up sleeping on bus rides during the day and exploring the city at night. 

One of those nights, I’d met a guy who seemed older than me by a few years, who introduced himself as Hercules Mulligan. Apparently, he was somewhat of a big shot here in the city—he has his own fashion line, brand, and store (H. By Hercules, sounds expensive and I’d never heard of it). We talked for a while and began to hang out. After a week, he began to pick up that, when I’d leave his apartment, I’d just go to a coffee shop and sit for a while. He confronted me about it, and, when I’d revealed my situation, he invited me to stay with him. I was 18 then, now it’s been a year and, after many, many college applications, I got accepted to NYU on a full ride, some academic-merit based diversity scholarship, and, well, now my coffee’s cold.

I realize I’ve been staring off into space and snap back into reality, checking my phone for the time. 2:03. 

_Shit, I’m supposed to get my rooming assignments at 2:15._

I grab all of my stuff—a backpack filled with clothes, shoes, a toothbrush, and facewash (Hercules suggested that I _had_ to take care of my skin whilst at college) and my laptop—and leave a tip on the desk. Rushing out the door, I half-run down the street, my stuff nearly falling out of my arms. I see a second too late that my coffee is tipping out of my hand, and it lands on the floor, its contents spilling onto the pavement. I roll my eyes and bend to get down when someone walks by me, clearly also in a rush. He laughs and slows down a bit.

“Shit, man, bad day?” he asks, a suitcase being pulled behind him. I laugh audibly and pick up my cup, discarding it in a nearby trash can.

“Yeah. Hectic, is all. I don’t even have that many things, it’s just, I don’t know. I can’t get my shit together.” 

We begin to walk side by side, and I take out my phone to look at the GPS walking path to NYU. I’d only ever taken the subway there before, when I had my interview. According to Google Maps, I’m 10 minutes away. Great, so I should get there early, and beat my roommate to the dorm.

“Conversation’s been great, but I have to go! Good luck with whatever you’re doing, bon voyage and all that!” I exclaim, referring to his stuffed suitcase, already multiple feet ahead of him. I turn back only for a second before running off. 

 


	2. Alexander, the Hurleberlu Caffeinated Cinnamon Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> roommies//considerations (French Translations at the End)

Once I get onto campus, I wander the halls until I find the place I was looking for, and go through all of the paperwork that I have to do in order to sign into my dorm. I grab a set of keys and use the pen I have in my pocket to write on my hand to remember to duplicate the key whenever I have the time.

I barely complain about the multiple staircases that I have to climb because of the excitement pumping through my veins. The feeling of finally getting into college after people have been saying you’re destined to do great things—the pure potential—my god, this feeling is great.

I notice someone next to me on the stairs who is staring at me oddly, and I’m confused for a second before realizing I was speaking out loud.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize it, I just get worked up sometimes.” I comment, still keeping a steady pace. The guy, who has a mass of (majestic) curly hair tied into a ponytail, smiles and nods. Seems preppy.

I finally reach the top of the last set of stairs, and my dorm is the sixth one on the right. I unlock the door quickly to see to blank bedframes with mattresses on them, the only furniture in the room a desk in front of the beds and a nightstand to the left of each bed. The closet is immediately on my right hand side, and I open it to see more closet space than I had in my room at Hercules’ bachelor bad. With a satisfied sigh, I put down my backpack onto the dresser that is on one side of the closet and place my laptop next to it. From the door that is slightly opened still, I hear a frustrated voice and a soft thud. Curious, I open the door fully and peek outside to see the guy with the curly hair whom I passed on the stairs, his forehead pressed against the surface of a door across the hall.

“Key won’t work?” I ask, shutting my door and remembering to pocket my own key.

“No. I keep on trying it, but— _merde_.” He spits out, and I notice that he has a French accent. Like, a really heavy one, as if he’s fresh off the boat.

“Let me see.” I walk to him and take his key into my hands, glancing from the key to the door and back to the key again.

“You switched the number and the letter, that’s an 'I', not a '1'. Here, your dorm should be…” I look around the hall, but stop when I recognize the number. A small smile comes across my face.

“What?” The guy asks, clearly anxious to get this part of the day over with.

“Well, for starters, my name is Alexander Hamilton, and secondly, I’m your new roommate.”

 

 

 _Great, I have some_ hurleberlu _guy who can barely tell when he is and isn’t speaking out loud for a roommate._

“Oh, that is great. Will you show me where the room is?” I ask, my English slowly becoming more correct as I regain calmness.

The guy—Alexander—has his shoulder-length dark brown hair in a ponytail, and leads me a few doors down to a room that I can actually unlock with my key. I smile at him politely and survey the room quickly. None of its contents suprise me, I already Googled how the dorms in this residence hall look.

“You can take the one over there—“ he gestures to the bed on the far side of the room, which is elevated higher, “—Or that one, I guess, because it really doesn’t matter to me. A mattress’ a mattress, ya know?” He is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at this point, and I shake my head.

“I’ll take this one.” I say, and drag my suitcase onto the top of the mattress, beginning to take out my satin sheet set. I actually find myself being excited for living in a dorm, like a normal guy, just a normal student at a normal college on a normal day. The truth is far from that, though—my parents apparently had some plan in their will I had no knowledge of that left enough money for my relatives to bribe me into any college I want, preferably NYU. When I’d found out two summers ago, I couldn’t help but feel as if the whole situation was unfair. Two summers later, I found myself on a plane from my home in Paris to New York on foreign exchange.

Alexander takes a sheet set he looks suprised to see from out of his bag and begins to spread it on his bed. When he is finished, I see that it’s spread perfectly, with no creases in the fabric. He takes a thick, fluffy blanket and two pillows out and lays them down on his bed. I don’t know where he found the space in his backpack for all of that. He notices I’ve been staring at him, and looks up and smiles.

“Sorry if I seem a little all over the place. It’s just—god—I just feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point, and just—woah. I never thought I’d make it this far.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurleberlu- scatterbrained  
> Merde- Shit


	3. Hecking Charles Lee (see, it rhymes with three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moving in // moving on

I hadn’t expected my apartment to be so… spacious.

My father always made the biggest deal out of making sure his children “get the best they can in life”, and, even though it gets annoying when you happen to be the only non-closeminded person in the family and your father insists that the best in life is a white picket fence, a good Christian wife, and children, it does have its perks.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to check my contact. 

_Speak of the devil._

“Hey, Dad. I just got into my apartment, the landlord seems nice.” I say before he can get the chance to ask me. I hear him settle into a chair and imagine him in the cushioned chair he keeps in his office, paperwork splayed out in front of him on his desk.

“Good, son, I’m glad in went by without a hitch. How do you like it?” he asks, already sounding a bit distracted.

“It’s great, Dad, but you really didn’t have to go all out for this. I could have just stayed on campus again this year.” I drop the heavy suitcase that I’d been clutching onto the floor and notice the bedframe with an expensive-looking mattress on top of it. Dad must have gotten one of his colleagues to get me one.

He makes a dissmissive noise.

“No, don’t be silly John, I lived off campus my second year of college, so did you grandad. It’s a different experience. Anyway, your rent is in a one-year contract. Can’t change it now. Did you know that when I was going to college, the apartment that I had…”

I stop paying attention as he launches into a detailed rambling about his apartment’s rent contract from when he was in college and how the buyers’ market is so much different than when he was my age.

“Yeah, thanks, Dad, but I have to go get some… stuff. I need to unpack.” I say, pretty bad at this lie. He abruptly finishes his story, and it sounds like he only just realized he’d been going off onto a tangent.

“Alright, John. Good luck, and if you need any help be sure to call Mr. Middleton. Send me a picture of the apartment when it’s all unpacked, I want to see it.” He says, and I nod and then realizes that he can’t hear me.

“Yes, sir, I will. Thanks again, Dad.” I say, rushing to end the conversation for no apparent reason. We say our goodbyes and I hang up, flinging my phone onto the bare mattress and unzipping my suitcase.

When I flip open the top compartment and unpack the sandwich bag that has my toothbrush and aftershave, I realize a slip of paper has fallen out. I pick it up and read it, not remembering packing any sheets of paper.

_Hey, John. It’s me… You know? You probably recognize my handwriting—but then again who else would I be? I don’t want to say my name, just in case your dad goes through this stuff before you leave, but I’m gonna be in New York by the time you read this. Luckily, I got the chance to slip this into your suitcase when I came over to get that sweatshirt I left at your house. I hope, at least. If you’re reading this, then I did. If it’s Mr. Laurens… hi?_

_Anyway, my aunt lives up in the city and my dad says that I should spend a year up there to “learn the family business”. I’m not gonna write my phone number on here, but can you meet me? The 27 th, at the cafe on 7th street? I’ll be there from 3-ish to 4. Thanks._

_-L_

I sit down on my bed, astonished. Of course I know who this is. 

We were best friends, for Christ’s sake, of course I recognize his handwriting. 

The 27th is today, I realize, with only a small amount of suprise.

Before I can convince myself to do otherwise, I pick up my phone and keys from the bed and walk out of the door, my feet moving ahead of my brain.

How’d he know that I, for sure, would be here on the 27th? I never told him the exact date that I’d be in the city. How do I know it’s him, for sure? The writing sounded enough like him and it was definitely his handwriting, but those could have been faked. The note is still in my palm, crumpled by the force that I’m applying to it by curling my hand into a fist.

I don’t pay attention to the walk there, my mind is mainly focused on whether or not he’d actually be there. The watch on my wrist says it’s 3:30, so, I mean, he should still be there.

I’m staring down a cafe’s chalkboard.

It’s right in front of me, which means I’m at the cafe, meaning that he’ll be here. I immediately regret doing this, and turn to leave.

“John,” I hear a too-familiar voice say. Slightly higher than my voice and perky with a bit of a British accent that he’s embraced since he came to America, I could recognize it anywhere. It comes from directly to my left. I turn slowly to him, staring down his dark brown eyes.

“Charles,” I say, both of my hands now in fists, “What are you doing here?” 

He gestures for me to sit down, and, for some reason, I do.

“I needed to talk to you.” He says. Both of his hands are spread on the table, palms down. I avoid looking him in the eyes.

“There’s nothing _to_ talk about.” I say through gritted teeth, for some reason afraid that someone would hear me.

“John, your dad’s not here. He’s states away. We can be together now. You know you want to—we both have for a while now.” He reaches out to take my hand, but I yank it away quickly.

“No. Don’t tell me what I do or do not want, okay? You don’t know me. We haven’t talk in nearly three months.” With the hand that is under the table, I begin to rip apart the note. The shredded pieces fall to the floor. “ _This_ is why I don’t talk to you. My dad’s right: you don’t know anything about me. This—“ I gesture to him and then back to me, “Is not me. It may be you, but I’m not like that. I never have been, never will. So please, for the love of God, leave me alone and stop dragging me into this reality of yours where I fit this perfect mold, because it’s. Not. Me.” I half-whisper the last part, and his mouth is open like he was about to say something when he realizes what I just said. He quickly lifts his hands from the table, hurt flashing over his face.

“You know what, John? I don’t care if you won’t say it, or if you want to forget it happened, but you can’t deny that there was something between us—something more than just a good friendship, so go ahead and deny it and be as sheltered as you want by what your dad thinks is perfect. Why should I give a shit?” Charles yells with blatant disregard for anyone on the nearby street or patio. His accent slips through more by the second, even on words he’d said he prefers the American pronunciation on. He gets up out of his chair with a flourish, always taking up space like it was always his in the first place, and storms off, walking along the street in the opposite direction from which I’d come.


	4. Lafayette's A Bore?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // socializing //

Okay, so apparently colleges don’t _actually_ care what you fill out on your roommate form.

This fact is so evident as I sit on the desk in front of my bed, typing away on my laptop. I’m looking at the syllabus for my political science class to see which assignments I can do beforehand. At the same time I’m doing that, I remember that I need to sign up for student council before my name is too far down on the list—I don’t want to look like a slacker.

Meanwhile, the French guy—shit, I don’t even know his name yet—is sitting on top of his bed, which has a very expensive-looking satin sheet set, on his phone.

“Hey, I forgot, what’s your name?” I ask him, before I forget to and accidentally go the first week of the semester without knowing my roommate’s name. It’s probably something French.

“Oh, it is Gilbert.” He says without looking up from his phone. I’m confused for a second at such a blatantly American name, but then I alter the pronunciation a bit and—

“ _Gilbert, is it? You sound like you’re from Paris, and I can not imagine your name having such an English pronunciation._ ” I say in French, pronouncing his name correctly. He looks up from his phone, clearly taken aback.

“ _You speak French?_ ” He continues in French, his fluency clearly being more highly in the language.

“ _Yes, I picked it up from my mother when I was very young. Her father was a Frenchman. I don’t get the chance to use it very often, though._ ” A smile comes across Gilbert’s face.

“ _What a coincidence. Yes, I am from Paris. I was born there but I wanted to go to school in the states, so I did, and yes, my name is technically Gilbert, but only my family calls me that. It’s kind of like what Americans call a_ pet name _, I believe. My friends call me Lafayette or just Laf for short.”_

“Yeah, it’s called a pet name,” I begin, then decide to just continue in English. There would be other oppurtunities to practice my French. “Anyway, why do they call you that, Lafayette?” I say, stressing his name and trying to get used to it.

“Well, you see, I don’t usually tell this to anyone, but you’re my roommate and so who else would I tell if not you first? Anyway, my father, he was a marquis. Of a territory called La Fayette. “Marquis de Lafayette” is technically part of my full name, even though it’s just my hereditary title, so my friends call me that instead.” His phone is down at that point, and I turn away from my computer to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

“So, since you basically just said we’re friends, we should go out for lunch or something to get to know each other better. Do you have anything to do today?” I ask, already shutting my laptop.

He checks his phone calendar, and I almost snort. Is this guy seriously so busy that he has to check to see if he has something scheduled? 

“Yes, I should be available. Should we go now?” he asks, standing up.

I get my wallet from out of my bag and put it in my back pocket.

“When else?” ****


	5. Laurens Being Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // socializing attempts! //

So apparently, if it looks like you just went through a really nasty break up, waitresses feel inclinded to give you a basket of fries, “on the house”.

As I sit on the outer patio of the cafe, eating my pity fries and trying to pretend that none of the past twenty minutes had ever happened. I’m scrolling through my phone absentmindedly when I see ahead of me that guy that I ran into on the street, with the longish (although technically shorter that mine) dark hair. I look up to him and narrowly avoid eye contact and, as I look back down at my phone, I feel him looking at me. He’s standing next to a taller guy dressed very nicely with beautiful curly hair tied back into a ponytail.

Jesus, does everybody in this damn city have majestic hair? I’m so used to being the only one in town who had the balls to grow out his hair.

They end up on the other side of me as they wait in line and I begin to hear the shorter guy that I met earlier speak.

“Yeah, no, I just saw this guy this morning. He seems kinda depressed, to be honest. Is he okay? I don’t know. Maybe he missed his flight. You know, when I saw him, he had the hugest suitcase. He looked like he was going on a 3-week vacation in the Arctic Circle.” His voice is at a forced whisper, and I begin to see that, apparently, he has no volume control, becasue I can hear every word he’s saying. Clearly.

When they come back from inside with a menu in each of their hands, I’m suprised when they sit down at the table I’m sitting at, the shorter guy sitting in the chair Charles had sat in and the other guy pulling up another chair.

The guy from earlier this morning smiles at me, putting down his menu.

“Hi, I’m Alexander Hamilton. Just Alexander, really, or Alex to some.” He says, holding out his hand. I shake it reluctantly, and smile without realizing it. 

“I’m John Laurens.” I respond.

“See, I told you, Laf, he’s totally chill about this,” Alexander says, smiling like a toddler. I feel my face start to warm a bit, and quickly return my face to a neutral expression.

“And you are?” I ask to the other guy, my eyes still on Alexander as we exchange a few glances. The other guy seems confuse until I make eye contact with him.

“Oh, me?” he asks, shaking his head, “Sorry. I am not very good at the… spoken English language. I am only used to reading it.” Now that I can hear him, he has a heavy French accent, so that must be his first language.

“That’s fine. Your name, though?” I ask, sticking a fry into my mouth.

“Oh! It is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de Lafayette.” He says, a smile going across his face. Even Alexander looks dumbfounded.

“What?” we both ask at the same time. We make brief eye contact for a moment and then turn back to him, who slaps his knee and laughs.

“Ah! I am only kidding with you! My family calls me Gilbert or just Gil, but everyone else calls me Lafayette. Or Laf. That is technically my full name, I just like telling it American people—oh, if I haven’t made it clear, I’m from Paris—who aren’t used to titles and such. It always gets a hilarious reaction.” He says.

“Oh, okay, that makes sense, I guess. So, why are you in the city?” I question him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m actually on a sort of foreign exchange program to New York University—NYU. You know who has a more interesting story, though? _Mon ami_ Alexander here. Tell him, Alexander, tell him what you told me.” Lafayette nudges him on the shoulder. Had they just met, or had they been friends before? Did Alexander come from France, as well? I hadn’t heard a French accent, although he did have an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

Alexander looks startled, and his face slightly turns red.

“Oh, yeah, well, uh… I’m from the Carribean… Technically, where I’m from is already part of the U.S., just not a state, so it wasn’t really as hard. But yeah, I wrote some essays and poems about… about how I felt and stuff,” he turns redder and avoids eye contact with either of us, “and people loved it, I guess. I mean, yeah, they really liked it. I’ve got to say, it wasn’t my _best_ work, but some of my best pieces wouldn’t be totally appropriate to publish.” He laughs to himself and Lafayette snorts. I smile.

“Anyway, so the people in my area were like 'Woah, dude, this guy needs a formal education and shit'—I’m paraphrasing here—and they opened a fund and people all around my side of the island pitched in what little they could. I remember my teacher from primary school survived off of bread and soup for a week because she’d given me so much. So, yeah, by the time there was enough money for me to actually get anywhere, I’d turned eighteen. So I hopped on a plane to New York. That was a year ago. And, I’m here now, going to NYU.” Alexander said, losing the twinkle in his eyes that had showed up when he’d been talking for a while. I couldn’t help as my smile got larger. This guy’s amazing. He must be really smart.

“That’s crazy. But how did you leave your parents? Were they, like, supportive of everything because they knew it was for the better or did they still dislike it? My dad would have been _pissed_ if I said I was going off to an entirely new area to go to school without anyone else.” I mutter the last part half to myself, and I look of from my basket of fries when I don’t get a response from Alexander. He turns around in his chair as if he’s looking for a waiter. Both Lafayette and I are confused. Even from what I just found out about him, Alex is a pretty talkative person.

“So, John… Can I call you Laurens? I hope you don’t mind, I’m going to call you Laurens. What’s your story?” Lafayette asks, waving down the waittress. She motions for him to wait a second, and she steps inside with a full tray.

“Um, actually, I’m at NYU, too. I came here from South Carolina and this is my second year. I really like the school, and I’m living off campus in an apartment my dad hooked me up with. Uh… What else? Oh, I’m majoring in psychology and double-minoring in art history and linguistics. I declared it at the beginning of 2nd semester in my freshan year.” I stumbled for anything else to say, but punctuated my sentence with a shrug. Alexander still seemed distant, even though he was turned back, his eyes looked as if he’d spaced out. 

“That seems like a lot. I did not know NYU let people have to minors. My aunt says it is no good to have too many studies, she says it will be too much work for me, as it is only my first time here.” Lafayette flips through the menu and doesn’t make eye contact.

Alexander abruptly stands up from the table, reminding me of when Charles had done the same motion, but Alexander’s was filled with less rage. He walks off into the inside of the store without any further explanation.

Lafayette follows him with his eyes and then looks at me.

“He’s an…how you say…enigma. I just met him today when we got our rooming assignments. He’s non-stop in his work, even before school starts. He’s…weird, but he’s golden.”


	6. Well, There's No Use in Fighting (unless there is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> memories // prior commitments

_How could I have forgotten?_

The walls of the bathroom are painted a dark green and I lean up against one, sliding down onto the floor. I spread my legs out in front of me and brace my hands on the knees of my jeans. With slow breaths, I clench and unclench my fists.

The door to the bathroom opening seems louder than it actually is. I don’t look at who’s coming in, but bring my legs back up near my torso so they can pass around me. Instead of doing so, the person just stands there, staring at me. I look up to see Laurens, looking confused.

“Alexander? What are you doing here?” he asks, reaching a hand down. I take it and pull myself to my feet. I breathe slowly.

 _Well, you see, this exact day, 8 years ago, my brother died from the same flu that took my mother away the next year,_ I want to say.

“I have a headache,” I substitue instead. It wasn’t quite a lie, there was a dull throbbing sensation behind my temples.

“Oh, is it bad? Do you get migraines?” John asks, his voice holding a bit of concern as he takes a few paper towels from the dispenser and wets them with cold water from the faucet.

I nod. It’s the truth. Hercules says it’s because I never wear my glasses.

John hands me the paper towels awkwardly and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I used to put cold towels on my forehead when I was younger and I had bad headaches. I don’t know if it’ll work for you, I’m no doctor.” John says with a laugh, clearly trying to make this awkward situation less uncomfortable. I thank him and put it on my head, choosing instead to focus on the pain that lingered physically.

“Hey, if you’re ready to go to the table, I am.” I say, quieter than I’d expected. Christ, I sound pathetic.

“Oh, yeah sure.” John nearly whispers. Apparently, he took my lowered volume as a signal that my head hurt too bad to talk normally. As if I’d ever be hampered from rambling and getting louder and louder by a headache.

Back outside at the table, I see that Lafayette’s gone. In his place right next to his chair is a twenty dollar bill with a sheet of paper next to it. I pick it up and John looks from behind my shoulder.

_I’m going back to campus, I have a very important conversation to have one. Can you stay out for about an hour before coming back? I owe you one._

_Laf_

I scoff, rolling my eyes but not too annoyed.

“What is it with people and notes today? Phones are a thing.” John whispers, clearly to himself, forgetting his head is basically resting on my shoulder.

“What?” I ask him, confused.

He steps back, realizing he’d been so close to me.

“What?” he responds back, looking like a deer in headlights. I leave the twenty there, probably left there by Lafayette to pay for something he’d ordered and taken back to the dorm. 

“Well, it’s been a nice talk, Alexander. Good luck at NYU, don’t swamp yourself.” John says, waving with one hand and beginning to walk off. Quickly, I catch up to him, putting my hand on his upper arm to stop him.

“Hey, actually, I was wondering… You seem cool, you know? We should hang out. Do something.” Christ, I sound like an awkward 13-year old. Laurens smiles and looks at me, dazed for a second. He shakes his head, his smile dimming a bit.

“Yeah,” he says, “Oh, yeah, sure, like what?” Laurens’ voice is low, and I gulp at the change in tone.

“I don’t really know. I have an hour to just basically do whatever except go back to the dorm, where my laptop is, and I’ve already seen so much of the city in this past year.” I’m still looking at Laurens, holding direct eye contact. With a breath, I take my hand off his arm and step back a little bit. If Laurens notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Actually, I could really use some help unpacking. Would you mind?” his voice is joking, as if he doesn’t expect me to say yes, but I shake my head eagerly.

“No, yeah! Of course! Where’s your apartment, we can walk together.” I say. Of course we’re going to walk together, what else. God, I can be such an idiot sometimes.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously.” I respond. His smile returns.

“Alright, then, let’s go.”


	7. Mildly Hilarious Repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tidy white regrets // t e n s i o n // movies cut short

I unlock the door to my apartment, and open it with the key that I shoved in my back pocket. Stepping in, I throw it down onto a desk near the door. Alexander follows behind me.

“Welcome,” I say, spreading my arms out, “To my humble home. Well, not so humble. My father insisted on going all out.” I say, my cheeks heating. I usually don’t let any of my friends into where I live, and especially not where I sleep, I’ve never been allowed by my father to do the latter, for…reasons.

“Yeah, no shit, this place is huge. I’d be concerned about what your income source is if you could pay for tuition and afford this place.” Alexander looks around, in awe.

“So, you ready to help me unpack?” I ask him, clapping my hands and looking at the suitcase I brought and the suitcase that was delivered from the aiport and the backpack I had. He looks, as well.

“Yeah, sure. Never been readier in my life.”

- 

-

“I have never regretted anything more in my entire life.” Alexander says after we’ve finished unpacking and spreading and dusting every last item in the aparment. It hadn’t been that bad, of course, because we’d both been talking each other’s ears off wih random useless facts about ourselves the entire time and making terrible jokes. I zip up my backpack and shove it into my closet as Alexander sits on a chair near my bed, lightly sweating.

“Dude, why are you sweating? I asked you to nail _one_ clock to the wall.” I laugh, throwing a water bottle at him. He catches it and somehow manages to drink from it indignantly.

“Fuck off, I had to stand on your roller chair—by the way, how did you even get that? Did it just come with the apartmen—and that meant I was twisting and turning the entire time and I had to jump to reach the place you wanted me to. Makes a person sweat.” Hamilton says, putting the water in his lap and stretching his arms. The sleeves of his red T-shirt fit a little too snuggly, and I turn around, pretending to busy myself adjusting the alarm clock on my dresser.

“Hey, I was wondering, since we’re best friends now—“ he begins, and I snort. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes. 

“No, we’re definetely best friends. I put away your underwear. Nice tidy whities, by the way.” Hamilton says, and I turn to him, turning red.

“ _One pair_.” I say, holding back an embarrased laugh.

“ _Anyway_ , Lafayette didn’t get the chance. All he got was a lunch date. Which, technically, I initiated. So, why not have a movie night? We can watch, like, Casablanca or 21 Jump Street or The Notebook, whatever you like. Classes don’t start until Monday, anyway.” Alexander stops to drink from his waterbottle, and Laurens considers it for a second. Eventually, he acquiesced.

“Yeah, okay. That actually seems like fun. Do you have Lafayette’s number?” I question, and hamilton takes his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah… I do… I’m putting you guys in a group chat with me right now. Actually, John, do you wind if I use your shower really quickly? I’m gross right now.” Alexander says it like it’s nothing, and I’m taken aback for a second. I’ve never really had a good friend or a good… anything that I shared anything with. I don’t think anyone except me has ever used my shower back in South Carolina. Except for maybe the girl that I dated for senior year because my dad wouldn’t let me play football if I didn’t have a date to the prom.

“Sure. Do you need a towel or anything?” I ask him, and see that he’s stood up. I turn around and look through a drawer, tossing a blue towel towards him. He catches it with a smile.

“Thanks. Can you text Laf to bring me some clothes when he’s coming over? Tell him that most of them are in the bottom drawer.” His voice fades off as he walks into the adjoined bathroom and switches on the shower.

I nod to myself, pulling out my phone to see Lafayette and Alex have already messaged in the chat. I quickly save both of their numbers in my phone and check the messages.

 **Alexander:** yo

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** koi29 alexander and,, other number

 **Me:** Hey, it’s John. We’re having a movie night at my place. It’s the only complex on the street, just three blocks down from the cafe. I’ll buzz you in when you’re here, just call. Alexander’s in the shower right now and he says for you to bring him some clothes, they’re in the bottom drawer.

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** so high maintenence 

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** also, isn’t it customary to only leave clothes at the other person’s house after a few months?

 **Me:** What?

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** nothing

 **MJPYRGDM,MD Lafayette:** I’ll bring some clothes for him au revoir 

I click my phone off, drawing my eyebrows together in slight confusion. I hear—though try not to focus on—Alexander take off his clothes, pull aside the shower curtain, and step in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve come to a new revelation as I sit on my couch in front of the TV.

Alexander sings in the shower. 

“POOR GUH-LINDA FORCED TO RESIDE, WITH SOMEONE SO DISGUSTING-IFIED, WE JUST WANT TO TELL YOU, WE’RE ALL ON YOUR SIDEEEEEEEE!” I hear from the living room, and I laugh to myself, knowing he’s singing so loudly on purpose.

“YOU’RE GONNA BE POPULAR, I’LL SHOW YOU THE PROPER POISE WHEN YOU TALK TO BOYS, LITTLE WAYS TO FLIRT AND FLOUNCE, OOH—shit!” He belts, and I hear a thud. I hold back my laughter, snorting. 30 seconds later, Alexander emerges from my room door, towel tied around his waist, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, and a large bruise on the front of his left calf. I lose it then, breaking down into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Alexander crosses his arms, pretending to not be amused, but clearly on the verge of laughing.

I manage to regain control and survey his leg.

“What the hell did you do?” I ask, and he uncrosses his arms.

“I fell. In the middle of my solo, too! I was being the perfectly condescending Galinda, and then, bam! I’m on the floor.” He whines, and I get some ice from the freezer and toss it to him. He thanks me.

“So… Is Lafayette here yet?” he asks, bending down to hold the ice to his leg. I purposely walk around him instead of in front of him so as to not—

“Uh, what? No. He’s not here yet. He texted me five minutes ago saying he’s leaving the dorm and demanded I give him my exact address so he doesn’t get lost.” The sentence begins in a mutter until I shake my head to clear it.

“Oh…. Alright then.” Alexander stands upright again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as I sit down on the couch and refuse to turn back to look at him.

“You can, uh, I don’t know. The dorms are kinda far from here.” I muse. Alexander stays silent as I think something out.

“Um, do you think you could fit any of my clothes? Just until Laf gets here, of course.” I stand from the couch and walk into my room. Alex trails behind.

I shuffle through a few drawers and find an old navy blue Star Wars shirt and black and white flannel pants that barely fit me. They’d clearly be too big on him, but oh well.

I hand them to him, and he thanks me. 

It takes us a few seconds to realize another thing, and when we do, we both get the same thought. We make eye contact, and Alexander shakes his head firmly.

“No. I swear to God, Laurens, I’m not wearing the tidy whities.” Hamilton says firmly, and I shrug my shoulders.

“Well, you either wear them or go commando in _my_ flannel pajamas.” I’m already opening my underwear drawer. He shakes his head again.

“Nope.”

“Come on, Alexander. Didn’t you say we were best friends?” I tease him.

“Fuck off. I’m not wearing your tidy whities.” Hamilton is about to slip on his shirt, but I stop him with a light touch on his wrist. He puts his arms down immediately, letting his hands fall a few inches before where the towel ends. Dragging my eyes up, I see that he’s laughing and not paying attention, his hair starting to dry but still framing his face as if he is—

Jesus Christ, John, stop eye-molesting this guy.

“Dude. I literally haven’t worn them ever in my life. They were a mistake—I was accidentally shipped these from Amazon, and I didn’t want to pay return postage fees. That’s why they’re still in the original packaging. Just wear them.” I take them out and toss the package to him. He relents, and turns around to where he’s not facing me. I begin to walk out and, as I shut the door, I glimpse at him only to see him unfastening his towel, letting it drop to the floor, and glaring at the tidy whities. I quickly shut the door and go back into the living room.

-

-

About ten minutes later, Lafayette is at my door, a satchel at his side and dressed in a completely different outfit than what I’d saw him in earlier. He wears a regular black Hanes t-shirt and pajama pants.

“Do you have Alexander’s clothes?” I ask him, mildly hoping that he didn’t bring underwear so Hamilton would have to endure wearing “The Abominable Underpants” until he goes home. Lafayette looks confused, then he remembers.

“What? Oh no, I did not bring them. Oops, I realized too late. He’s not naked, he’ll be fine…” Lafayette walks in the door and I lock it behinf him, “…Unless he is naked. In which case, I’ll leave if that’s wanted.” 

I miss a few beats and laugh, stunned.

“No, no, he’s clothed. We found some clothes of mine he can wear. Speaking of, why are you dressed like a teenager about to go to her first slumber party?” I sit down on the couch next to Alex, and Lafayette sits on the smaller nearby couch, spreading his legs out.

“Google told me that in America movie nights either mean having sex in the back of a theatre or pajamas and popcorn. I assumed that, since your apartment is not a movie theatre, tonight is the second option.”


	8. Half-Asleep Conversations (gay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // date arrangements???? //

I don’t really remember anything past 9:00—we had just hit the halfway point in White Chicks, and Lafayette and Laurens were bickering over which one would be which white chick. I must have drifted off after that, because, now, I’m laying down on Laurens’ couch, my head resting on… his lap.

The TV is still on, and a new movie is on. I hear Laurens laugh, and I know that he’s awake.

“I could be a mass murderer. You just let me sleep in your apartment. I could have bombs strapped to me right now.” I say, halfway through getting caught in a yawn. Laurens looks down at me, his eyes clearly tired.

“Yeah, well—“ he yawns, “—you’re wearing tidy whities. You’d die of shame yourself before you could get the chance to kill anyone else.”

I drift off again after that.

-

-

When I wake up this time, I expect to find only 30 minutes having passed from when I last woke up. Instead, I feel a different surface under my back. I look around to see that I’m in a bed—Laurens’ bed. For a second, I wonder where Laurens is, until I hear movement near the foot of the bed. 

I sit up and peer over and downwards to see Laurens, wrapped in three gray blankets, resting on a black pillow.

“Laurens,” I stage-whisper. No response.

“John.” I repeat. No response again.

“John Laurens.” I say, at full volume. He jolts awake, his eyes darting across the room until he finds me. He still looks generally panicked.

“Hey,” I mutter. “You know, you don’t have to sleep on the floor. You can come up. I’m fine with it. My male ego isn’t so fragile that I have to avoid sleeping in the same bed as other guys.”

No, in fact, I’d done _much more_ with other guys, and my ego can still fill a football field.

John is silent for a few moments, and I almost expect him to say that _he_ isn’t fine with it. I lay back down onto the bed, turning to face the empty spot.

I hear the sheets rustle, and then feel body heat. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with John Laurens’ hazel eyes. Neither of us say anything. He looks exhausted—what time is it?

“What time is it? Where’s Lafayette?” I asked him, not making any move to get out of his bed.

“The last time I checked my phone, it was 2 A.M. Lafayette went home at about 12—right before you woke up the first time.” His freckles are nearly invisible in the low light, so I focus on his mouth.

“Oh,” I whisper, barely audible. We’re both silent for a while.

“John?” I ask.

“Alexander,” he replies. I see the corners of his mouth turn up.

“Get breakfast with me in the morning?” I ask him, judgment half-impaired by my half-awake state.

He’s full-on smiling now. 

“Yes.” He answers, and I feel his hand move. For a moment, I think he’ll kiss me. Instead, he turns around. I do the same.

Am I seriously in this guy’s bed after only meeting him this morning? And did I seriously just ask him out on a date? Does he know it’s a date? Did he just say yes?


	9. Hidden Homosexuals? (No, Henry.) (Yes, Alexander and John.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early bird laurens // henry f*ckin laurens // petit amis ;; see notes for french translations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vous venez de me quitter à Paris! Je vous attendais á la maison, mais vous ne revenez jamais! Votre famille était inquiète! J’étais inquiet! : You just left me in Paris! I was waiting for you at home, but you never came back! Your family was worried! I was worried!
> 
> Adrienne, je suis vraiment désolé. Je ne pensais pas—J’ai agi impulsivement. Vous savez comment je suis. Je n’aurais pas dû te faire ça. : Adrienne, I'm really sorry. I did not think--I acted impulsively. You know how I am. I should not have done that to you.
> 
> Bonjour, mes amis. : Hello, friends.
> 
> Mon colocataire, Alexander. Et son petit ami. : My roommate, Alexander. And his boyfriend.

I wake up before Hamilton does. I’ve always been somewhat of an early riser.

I walk to the windows near my bed and hesitate to open them. I look at Hamilton, sleeping peacefully… in my bed?

What the fuck happened last night?

I decide against opening the blinds and opt for a shower to wake me up fully instead. By the time I’m out, I expect for Hamilton to be awake and alert, but I come back in only to see him sleeping still, now sprawled out across the bed, clutching my pillow.

I smile and sit down on the edge of the bed.

-

-

When I wake up, the first thing I hear is loud voices. I yawn quietly, rubbing my eyes, and open them to see that John is on his phone with somebody, the person on speaker.

“Don’t lie to me, John Laurens. I asked you to take a picture of the apartment when you were done setting it up and I get no picture? Why is that? I know you don’t go to sleep early—what were you doing last night?” a voice with a southern accent that I can’t place yells. Laurens paces back and forth across the room shirtlessly, leaving the phone on his dresser. I close my eyes and stay still.

“Dad, chill, I forgot.” John tries to explain. So it’s his father.

“What were you doing to forget? You had one thing to do and you forgot it? So what were you doing?” the voice on the other line is getting agitated.

“Fine… If you must know…” John stumbles nervously, probably to find a lie, “I was with a girl.” 

I have to restrain myself from laughter as the other line goes silent.

“…Really?” says his father. He sounds skeptical. “Because I had Henry check on you and he said he saw a guy coming down the stairs out the door of your apartment in nightclothes at 12 A.M.” 

John doesn’t hesitate this time.

“That’s Gilbert,” he says, and I take note of his use of Laf’s first name, “He’s her friend. We were all watching movies together, and she fell asleep, so he decided to leave.” 

Wait… am I the 'she'? 

“What’s her name?” asks his father.

“Alex..a. Alexa. It’s short for Alexandria. Or Alejandra. Depends on who you ask. You see, her family’s from Puerto Rico, so it’s technically Alejandra. That’s what her family calls her. But we call her Alexandria. Alexa.” John says, taking his lie too far. 

Well, now I know that he’s definitely talking about me. Except he got the island wrong, but the general region was good. Also, my name’s not Alejandro—to anyone. I don’t even speak Spanish…

“Oh? So she stayed at your house?” his father inquires, voice sounding less demanding and generally interested.

“Yes, sir.” John responds. He bites on one of his knuckles, cheeks flushing.

“Alright, well, in that case, I’m glad that you’re getting out there. I was afraid you were gonna spend your college experience single!” Laughs his father. John breathes out heavily, faking a laugh back.

“Okay, son, I’ll leave you to be with Alexa. Talk to you later—don’t forget to send me that picture.” The phone hangs up before John can, and I quickly sit up. John starts.

“St. Kitts, John. If I’m gonna sleep in your bed, you better at least know I’m from St. Kitts.” I retort, and his face flushes even deeper.

“You heard that?” He asks, grabbing the phone from the dresser and turning it off.

“Yeah, I heard that. What’s up with your dad. He seems a little off the deep end. Isn’t there some type of unsaid rule—college equals do whatever you want without parents getting on your nerves?” I toss the covers aside and begin to make the bed. He looks at me oddly.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, and I release the comforter, “Anyway, I know it’s only for the benefit of me. He wants what’s best for me, so I don’t mind.” 

I walk up to him, stepping a few inches too close, choosing to make eye contact with him.

“You know what I think?”

He gulps, breaking the eye contact to look somewhere else in the room.

“What?”

“I think that you do mind. I think that you want to live life seperately from him, do what you want, and not have to make up some lie that I’m a girl—even though I’d be a damn good one.” I mutter the last part more to myself. He looks at me in the eyes again.

“You couldn’t just say that you had a friend sleep over?” I ask him, turning my head to the side. He shakes his head. “Why?”

“Because—just, I said that to get him off my ass. I tell him that I have a friend over, then he’ll ask their gender, when I met them, why are they spending the night, if we—it’s a bigger deal, okay? It’s easier to do it this way. I know he wants me to be happy and not single and dating a girl, so I’m giving him what he wants. Sort of.”

I have the slightest idea that Laurens isn’t completely telling the truth.

-

-

Just as I’m about to stick my key into the door of my room, I hear yelling. I turn to John, and he makes it clear that he can hear it, as well, but can’t understand it!

“ _Vous venez de me quitter à Paris! Je vous attendais á la maison, mais vous ne revenez jamais! Votre famille était inquiète! J’étais inquiet!_ ” A female voice shouts. She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. 

 “Do you happen to speak French, by any chance?” Laurens whispers to me, clearly not aware that we would catch the breakfast rush if we didn’t get in now. I wish that Lafayette had just brought me clothes last night so I wouldn’t have to go through this.

“Actually, yeah. Whoever that is is pretty pissed because apparently someone left her in Paris, and their family was worried, and she was worried, and the person just left her at home without any warning. I don’t know where this person went to—shit, it’s probably Lafayette.” I say, stopping abruptly when another voice—clearly Lafayette—begins to speak.

“ _Adrienne, je suis vraiment désolé. Je ne pensais pas—J’ai agi impulsivement. Vous savez comment je suis. Je n’aurais pas dû te faire ça._ ” Lafayette answered back pleadingly.

“Uh, Lafayette’s basically all like 'I’m so sorry babe! I was impulsive! I shouldn’t have done that!' and, in conclusion, I’m going to go ahead and open the door now.” I say, and John tried to stop me, but it was already unlocked.

I walk into the threshold to see Lafayette on his knees next to a girl about our age with long, wavy brown hair and sharp yet delicate features. Is this his girlfriend or something?

“ _Bonjour, mes amis._ ” I say awkwardly. Laurens waves behind me.

Lafayette offers a pitiful smile to the girl as he stands to his feet.

“ _Mon colocataire, Alexander. Et son petit ami._ Alexander and John, my girlfirend, Adrienne.” Adrienne, her name is, crosses her arms. I resist the urge to protest what he slyly added in to the statement, knowing and taking advantage of the fact that John can’t speak French.

“Bonjour, Alexander. John.” She grins, managing to look at least fake-happy.

“Hey, Adrienne. I’m the roommate. I’m just here to get some clothes and brush my teeth, John and I are going off to breakfast, then I’ll let the two of you get back to this.” I laugh awkwardly.

“Yes, well, so, you’re the roommate and John is your—“ she’s cut off by John making an awkward noise of protest.

“No, I’m not his 'petit ami'. I’m at least 4 inches taller.” John interrupts, completely serious, and Adrienne, Lafayette, and I exchanged looks. The two of them look confused, but I catch on sooner, laughing.

“No, no—a ' _petit ami_ ' isn’t a 'small friend', that’s just the direct translation. It means… uh, boyfriend.” I say, turning to go to the closet before I get the chance to see his response.

 


	10. Everybody Makes Mistakes (Everybody Has Those Days--Well, Weeks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lesser english obscenities // alexander's psychoanalysis // alexander's very gay realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So I now have an update schedule that I'll be sticking to pretty consistently. The days I'll update are:  
> -Tuesday  
> -Thursday  
> -Friday  
> -Either Saturday or Sunday, depending on which day I am busy!  
>  If I don't put out an update, I'm either sick, dying, or will make it up so there's that! Also, thanks for the support! I didn't expect people to actually like me fingerling over dead Founding Fathers, but they do, apparently.

Once John and Alexander are both gone from the dorm and off to breakfast, Adrienne climbs up and sits down on Hamilton’s bed, clearly avoiding mine.

“Adrienne, _mon amour_ —please.” I beg her. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Gilbert.” She mutters.

“Yes?” I answer, hoping that she’ll keep the conversation in English. I’d rather bare the wrath of Adrienne’s limited English obscenities than her French ones.

“3 years. We have been dating for 3 years. Your aunt loves me and my family, and my family loves you. I cannot understand why you would do something like this—packing your bags and _leaving_ without any warning.” She deadpans, purposefully draining her voice of any emotions. I know that, when Adrienne does this, it’s because she’s feeling too much. I want to wrap her in a hug and apologize in every language on the earth, tell her that I just _had_ to do this.

“Adrienne, I know this seems bad. And it is, yes, it is, but I needed to, do you understand? My parents have always longed to see the world, travel and experience the different places and educations, and—they wanted this for me. They left money for me to pay for this. I had to come here. I should have told you—I wish I’d have told you, but I was afraid you wouldn’t understand and try to leave me, Adrienne. I did not come here so that I could leave you. Adrienne,” I grab her hands, “my heart only needs you. You’re all I have, _mon amour_ , and I hate that… I hate that I’ve ruined this.” I press my forehead to her hands, still trying to explain something inexplicable.

Her face softens, and she pulls her hands out from under mine to run them through my hair.

“You did not ruin us, Gilbert. I don’t believe that anything could ruin us. I just wish that you’d told me beforehand. You made me believe that… I had done something wrong. I felt so desperate on the flight here, like you had gone to America to get rid of me and I’m the girlfriend who cannot move on and chases you to a different continent.” She laments, letting her hands rest on the back of my neck. She puts her head down, and a tear falls from her eye.

“My Adrienne, plese don’t cry. I would never leave you. I just had to go. I _had_ to—it was the dying wish of my parents. I didn’t expect you to understand and I couldn’t think of a better option at the time. I’m sorry, Adrienne. I beg your forgiveness a million times.” I put my hands on her thighs, and she takes them.

“I could not stay mad with you. I love you, my Gil.” She says, nudging my chin up to kiss me. As our lips meet, I feel more tears fall from her eyes.

-

-

“Star Wars or Star Trek?” Alexander is almost bouncing up and down as he braces his arms on the table between us. I smile and laugh, putting my head down and covering my mouth.

“What?” he asks, laughing at me.

“We’re at breakfast and the best question you can come up with is ' _Star Wars or Star Trek'_? Here I was, thinking you were Alexander: Man of Interesting Conversations.” I sip from my coffee mug, which is weighed down by a lot of cream and sugar. Alexander drinks from his, which is, I notice, black with espresso shots in it. How this kid isn’t seeing colors and hearing shapes is unbeknownst to me.

“Okay, then. Why did you ask me out to breakfast?” he asks me, the tips of his fingers beginning to drum onto the table. I ignore it and tilt my head a bit.

“I… didn’t ask you…” I stumble, confused as to whether or not I’d gotten the details of last night wrong. Had I seriously asked Alexander out on a… date? He smiles and nods his head.

“I know you didn’t. How could I not know? I mean, it _was_ pretty late, but, no I remember very clearly me being the one asking you to breakfast? Do they have French Toast here? You know, I’ve only had French toast once in my life. It was my second week in the States, and I found this little bakery—La Boulangerie—that served breakfast and made French toast. I don’t think they normally did it, though. I think Hercules had some connections and convinced them to show me what it was. I’d had no idea before. Oh, do you know Hercules? Great guy, great—“ Alexander’s going on and on and eventually I cut him off.

“Alexander?” I ask him, laughing. He makes eye contact with me again, takes a sip of his coffee, and puts down the mug.

“Yeah? What’s up. Shit—was I talking too loud? Sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth. I’ve never had too many friends before.” He seems dejected, and I take his hand, against literally every voice that screams at me not to, just because I _should not_. 

“You weren’t too loud, just, I have a question.” I ask him, my voice faltering. He doesn’t respond, just looks at our hands from over his coffee mug. “Why’d you ask me here?” I ask him, basically turning his own question around. He puts down his mug and smiles, mostly with his eyes. _His eyes…_

“Because I’d be hungry if I didn’t get breakfast.” He states, clearly purposefully avoiding something. I raise an eyebrows.

“Yes, but…” I trail off, hoping he’d get the gist of what I was saying. He does.

“But I didn’t have to ask you to come with me. I know. I guess it’s a little weird. We only met, like, 24 hours ago and somehow I’ve already taken a shower in your house and slept in your bed and also in your lap. I don’t know. I just kinda wanted to get to know you better.” His face flushes for the first time I’ve met him and I find it overwhelming, the way color slowly rises to his chin, then his cheeks, then his forehead, and then he realizes it and presses the palms of his hands onto his face to cool it down.

“We did get to know each other, though.” I say, thinking back to the conversations we’d had last evening. He sighs through his nose.

“Yeah, well, I know that you have four siblings and your dad’s a—nevermind, but, uh, I know that your favorite color is green and your favorite animal’s a turtle and that you’re super smart and apparently work well under stress because you major in psychology and double major in art history and linguistics and I honestly don’t understand how you can manage to get all that done so it must mean you’re a pretty organized person, so you really have your shit together, but only when it comes to school because you don’t care too much about organization but you want things to look presentable for other people, that’s why you straightened up the apartment when Lafayette was coming but not for me because the apartment was still bare. You clearly like to draw and are pretty good at it—you didn’t tell me, but I noticed your signature on a lot of paintings that you put up, so you painted them and some of them are pretty amazing. And somehow you also manage to play football—where am I going with this?” he stops his almost rhythmic ranting and searches for his original train of thought. “Oh yeah, I know these things because you told me, but the actual inferences I made about your personality were assumptions. I don’t only want to know _about_ you, John Laurens, I wish to also know _you_.”

-

-

Breakfast, my swooning over John aside, went overall pretty well and no one’s in the dorms when I get back, which allows me space to think things over.

“Alright,” I say decidedly, ten minutes later, “Fuck, I have a crush on John Laurens.”


	11. What The Heck I Gotta Do (To Make You Not Run Away From Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and gilby // well heck // well gay heck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAMSLAMSLAMSLAMSLAMS

The next morning at 6:30, Alexander is missing from his perfectly made bed, and I doubt he’s spent the night at John’s, as I came home after him to see he was asleep in his bed. His schoolbag, which contains his laptop and textbooks for the day, is gone, so I assume he’s off to class early.

I manage to pull myself out of bed, despite only getting five hours of sleep after dropping off Adrienne and the airport last night. Once I drag myself into the shower, exhaustion subsides and excitement takes way. This is my first day of college—of any higher education institution—of any education in America. I’m finally doing something right, something I _know_ my father would be proud of me for.

The first class I have today is Intro to Psychology with a Professor Henry Middleton. It takes me fifteen minutes to walk to the correct building and find the right lecture hall, but I eventually make it with five minutes to spare, sitting down in the second row. The girl next to me, in a yellow dress and her hair tied up in a ponytail and secured by a ribbon of the same color, scribbles her name down onto a notebook—a yellow notebook—in Sharpie.

“Hello. I am Gilbert de Lafayette. Mostly just Lafayette, though. And you?” I ask with a smile, letting some excitement show through.

She looks up, dazed, but eventually smiles.

“Margarita Schuyler. Mostly just Peggy, though.” She says with a large grin, showing off her teeth.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is this your first year here at NYU?” I ask as I begin to take my textbook, a notebook, and a pen out of my satchel.

“Yeah. I graduated high school a year early, and my two sisters are already attending here, so I figured I’d try to appply and I got in.” She closes the cap to her Sharpie and looks around absentmindendly for a second before snapping back to the conversation. “And you?”

“Ah, well, I’m here from Paris on an exchange program of sorts—honestly, I don’t know why I keep telling people that, there is no exchange program, I just came from out of country.” I laugh to myself, and she joins in with me. She goes silent for a moment, and then takes a phone out of her purse—black phone case—and unlocks it.

“Here, Gilbert. Do you mind if I call you that? I spent two semesters in france sophomore year of high school, I can pronounce it correctly and can also technically speak French but I don’t usually use it because I don’t think it’s as good as…” she shakes her head firmly, breaking her smile, then looks back up, happy expression returned, “Put your number in. I’d love to get to know you better.” I take the phone from her and type in 'Gilbert de Lafayette' as the contact name to the new American phone number I’d gotten.

“Of course you can. You can send me a text, if you’d like, to make sure I didn’t give you a fake number.” I laugh with a smile, but she shakes her head happily.

“I know you didn’t. You’re not the type, Gilby.” With that, she turns to face the other side and runs to the restroom.

“Gilby… I like tha—“ I mutter to myself, getting cut off by seeing John Laurens walk in the door.

“John! Hey, John! It’s me, Lafayette! Come sit!” I half-yell, evoking the attention of a few students who eventually turn away. His cheeks turn red, and he clutches his bag tighter. Mental note: don’t call John out in public. He doesn’t seem to like it very much.

Still, he sits next to me, tossing his backpack to the side and checking the time on his phone, which he leaves on the corner of the desk.

“Hey, John, why are you in here? Shouldn’t you be in a more _advanced_ course?” I ask him, and he shakes his head.

“Nah. I never took pysch in freshman year and didn’t declare my major until this year, so Intro to Psych it is.” 

Peggy comes running back into the room seconds before Professor Middleton stirs at his desk. John leaned to the side and waved at her, and she waved back.

“How’s Eliza?” he asked her.

“Oh, she’s good, she’s good.” Peggy said, seemingly dejected. Before I can try to talk to John about what just happened, Pr. Middleton comes to the middle of the floor and claps his hands.

“Sex. We all do it, we all think about it, so it’s time we talk about it.” His thundering voice booms. Well, this is going to be great.

-

-

“Wednesday’s lecture will be on foreign and domestic policy and why perpetual alliance is never the most strategic choice.” Proffesor Washington says, and then, finally, “Y’all are free to go.”

A mass of students, along with me, rush out of the hall and to one of the dining halls or dormitories. I pull out my phone and open the group chat.

 **Laffy Taffy:** I saved us a table. It’s in the back of the dining hall. You’ll have to look for my hair above the crowd, though.

 **John:** Not to be rude, I usually eat off campus.

 **Me:** sucks to suck

 **Laffy Taffy** : You have the rest of the year to be a loner, come sit with us today. Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee!

 **John** : Alright okay okay, I’ll be there in 5 my class ends at 12:05 what about y'all’s?

 **Me:** my god what a southern gentleman

 **Me:** same as urs though

 **Laffy Taffy** : John I’d really hope that my class is over as I am the one who informed you that I am reserving the table.

I lock my phone quickly, hunger getting the best of me, and run the rest of the way to the dining hall.

Lafayette’s right: I do have to look for his curly afro above thr crowd, and I find it, along with John waving a hand. They sit at a small four-chair table, food in front of each of them.

I speed walk towards them and, once I get there, drop my bag on the floor and sigh.

“How was your first day of school?” John asks with a knowing smirk, sipping from his Coke.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. I’m-Older-and-Therefore-Wiser, that it was amazingly exhausting. I’m runninng on a 5-hour energy, two grande black coffees from Starbuks, and pure adrenaline!” as I say this, I can feel my hand shake on the surface of the table.

I’m sure John notices, as well, because he casts a pointed look at my hand and coughs.

“Whatever. I’m getting food.” I push back the chair and walk to the area that has all of the foods, remembering to feel my pocket for my meal card. After looking at the food for a while, nothing interests me too much—probably because my adrenaline’s doing the job that food should do—except for an espresso machine. I walk over to it and poured a double shot, drinking it quickly and swiping my card. I let out an excited noise that I hope no one can here and begin to walk to the bathroom once I realize I have to pee.

In the bathroom, after I’ve finished peeing, I don’t expect that the only person there is John. He stands at the mirror, splashing water on his face with his eyes closed, and he doesn’t realize I’m the one in there with him until I wash my hands and have to reach over him to get paper towels. He turns off the sink immediately and turns to me, taking a step backward, which is a step into the arm that still lingers behind him. It dangles awkwardly.

“You good?” I ask him, avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah, just stress. And—stress.” He blinks quicker than he needs to and the next moment, the espresso kicks in and the only thing that I’m running on is impulse, so, throwing any possible consequences to the wind, I lean in and press my lips against those of John Laurens.

-

-

_Alexander is kissing me._

I’m not pulling away.

I don’t _not_ like it.

I’m kissing back now.

I run out of the restroom as soon as he breaks the kiss and run straight home all the way to my apartment.

_There’s no use in denying it now._

 


	12. John's Still in Denial (no, not the one in Egypt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // cover-up lies // they smell like him // sure you're not gay //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pas de françias!

Since when is it socially acceptable to just _run off_ when someone finishes kissing you—especially when you kiss back?

Then again, when is it socially acceptable to just _spontaneously kiss_ someone in the middle of a dining hall bathroom?

Suddenly, the adrenaline and impulse in body turns to dread, and I have no control over myself as I literally run to the nearest open stall to vomit.

Oh.

My.

God.

It’s not that he’s a guy or anything—I’ve never technically _been_ with a guy, mostly girls, except for that one guy I made out with at that club last year—it’s just that he reacted so _badly_.

He clearly liked it, though. He had pushed himself closer to me and kissed back and I loved every moment of it, but when I felt the kiss was done, I pulled away and ran out. Like he was going to vomit. Am I that fucking disgusting? Christ.

I figure that the best choice at this point is to go back out to the table, see if John is there, and act accordingly.

He’s not there, only Lafayette sits, eating a potato wedge.

“Hey, where’s John?” I ask, faking cluelessness, as I sit down.

“He just left… It was kind of weird, and he left his food and his bag.” Lafayette pops a cherry tomato into his mouth.

“Hm. Well,” I sit up again, trying not to obsess or fidget, “I’m going to get some food.”

-

-

**(Hey sorry I realize the last chapter I said he ran all the way to his house,, well ig oops? I’m giving him some inner dialogue of the time when he is still running)**

“No one just kisses someone in the middle of a bathroom!” I half-yell in the middle of the street, a few heads turning. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, apologizing profusely. I reach my hand into my back pocket to fish out my phone, but realize that I must have left it with my bag at the dining hall. I run my hand over my face, but find a clock on one of the learning buildings and I see that I have about an hour and a half until my next class, so I decide on running the rest of the way to my apartment and thinking things out there.

Once I let myself into my apartment—I’m glad I always keep my keys on me—I take off my clothes, turn on the shower, and step in. The water is beyond freezing, and I feel like my limbs will freeze off, but it helps me think instead of distracting me.

Alexander Hamilton kissed me.

Alexander Hamilton is a guy.

A guy kissed me.

No one can know about this. This can’t happen again. I hope he didn’t tell Lafayette what he did. I can never talk to Alexander again—fuck, I actually liked him. God, not like that. Well,—

No. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

I turn off the shower abruptly and wrap myself in a towel, sitting down onto my bed. 

It’s still unmade, and it still smells of Alexander. Not faintly, not just a wisp of his scent, but it smells so much like him, as if he just came out of the shower and sat down onto my bed.

I stand back up and yank the comforter and sheets off my bed, then the pillows. Holding everything, I trudge into the other, smaller room—the room Alexander _should’ve_ slept in—and yank the sheets, comforters, and pillows off of the bed. I put the sheets from my bed onto it, the folds and creases not as perfect as they were when Alexander did it.

I take the other sheet set and transfer everything on my bed. When I lay down on it, it only smells like a Home Goods store. Before I begin to relax, I turn and see, in between the pillow and the pillowcase, a small ring looped around a chain.

I take it out curiously, examining the cheap metal with engravements on it that I can hardly read. I can make out two names, though: _James_ and _Rachel._

James? As in, my brother James? Does he have a girlfriend or something?

I take the chain and loop it around my wrist twice. I’ll ask him if it’s his once I get my phone back.

-

My next class is over sooner than I’d hoped. Alexander already knows what my schedule for today is—I told him yesterday, or maybe it was Saturday—so, naturally, I expect him to come drop off my bag once class is over and leave.

I’m sitting on my bed, fiddling with the chain and the ring when I hear the buzzer for my apartment ring. I walk to the front and press the button marked “Talk”.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Hey, John? It’s Alexander. Can I… can I come up?” He asks, and I chew my lower lip. I shouldn’t let him come up.

“No.” I say firmly before I can change my mind, and let go of the button. There’s no response, and I assume that he’s left my bag in the lobby, so I take the elevator down to the ground floor, only to see Alexander sitting on a chair, trying to look calm, but clearly on edge. He holds my bag in one hand and my phone in the other.

“Alexander,” I begin.

“You told me not to come up. I’m not up. I’m down.” He taps his foot on the floor, and my resolve weakens.

“Okay. Okay, fine. Just come up.” I eventually get out, and he stands up. I purposefully take the stairs back up so we don’t have to face the awkward elevator-waiting conversation.

Once in my apartment, Hamilton gives me my things and I place them near the front door. I sit down on the couch. He sits next to me.

About five minutes go by before Hamilton says something.

“I’m sorry. I was being a total dumbass. I didn’t even know if you would want to, it’s just, I feel like I haven’t slept in a week and the coffee was getting the best of me—I had just did a double shot of espresso—my self control was weak, I was barely awake, I just… That was really shitty of me to do. I’m not trying to make excuses or anything, I just… I don’t want you to think that I randomly go around kissing guys. Well, not like there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just…” Alexander eventually shuts himself up and fiddles with his fingers. I want to have his hand in my hand.

So I take it.

I tell myself not to focus on it.

“I’m not gay, Alexander.” I spit out, the fact that I say that whilst holding his hand almost laughable. He ignores that minor fact.

“Okay. Neither am I. I’ve been with girls. I’ve been with guys. I just wanted to be… not with you, God, that sounds like I’m some crazy stalker, just, in that moment, I wanted to kiss you. And so I did.” He stutters.

“No. Not like that. I don’t like guys. At all. I never have. I never will.” I say, my voice more firm to make up for other aspects of my words—aspects that aren’t completely truthful. I still don’t release his hand. Alexander laughs bitterly and turns to face me.

“Are you serious, John? I hope it doesn’t come as a suprise to you, but _you kissed me back_. You grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to you. So if you don’t like guys, I apparently must be a girl, then, because, even if it was just for that moment, you were into me. Into kissing me. I would have stopped earlier if you weren’t. God, that sounded… Bad. No—just—fuck—I don’t know, it’s—“ Alexander is running his hand through his hair with his free hand, and I squeeze his other hand harder. He stops his trail of thought and turns to me.

Then, I just kiss him.

He looked so… upset about this… and, when he ran his hand through his hair, I couldn’t help it.

The kiss lasts for longer than our first one did and I self-conciously don’t pull him towards me. He tangles his hand in my hair and we stay like this until I finally pull away.

Alexander’s lips are pinker than usual and a bit swollen, and I assume mine must look similar.

“You can’t say you didn’t like that, John Laurens.” Alexander restates.

I shake my head, not quite sure what I should say. The suprise of him kissing me the first time is wearing off as the suprise of me kissing him begins to show.

Alexander looks down, and I can almost feel the air in the room beginning to shift.

I turn to get a better look at him, but he’s just staring down at our entertwined hands.

“Where’d you get that.” He says, his voice only half-questioning. Instead of breaking apart our grasp, I touch it with my other hand.

“I found it in the pillowcase in the guest room,” I explain, “It’s my brother’s, I think.”

Alexander pulls his hand away.

“No. It’s not.” He states firmly, and I’m confused.

“What do you mean it’s not? I don’t know another person named James.” I continue, and he touches the ring with his fingers.

“I do.” He says, and undoes the knot, pulling it off my wrist and looping it around his neck. He hides it below the neckline of his shirt with a long breath.

“I usually wear it around my neck, but I had it wrapped around my wrist loosely when I was helping you. It must have fallen off. And I didn’t even notice…” Alexander is clenching his teeth together even though his mouth is still closed, and he looks as if he’s holding back tears. He stands up quickly and looks as if he’s getting ready to leave. I stand up as well.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea it was yours. My brother’s name is James, so I thought he’d just accidentally gotten it mixed up with my stuff while we were packing.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and don’t ask what the necklace is, what it means to him.

“So is mine. He was four years older than me, and my… um, my mother got this as a gift when she was pregnant. It has both of their names on it. He, um, he died when he was fifteen. Actually, the anniversary of his death was Saturday. I took it off at the restaraunt to hold it.” He says, as if he’s ripping off a Band-Aid. I want to hug him. I don’t.

Instead, I stay quiet. When Alexander moves toward the door, I follow him. He turns before he opens the door.

“John.” He says, not calling me or asking me anything, just saying my name to say it. We both lean in for the kiss at the same time.

When I let go, he keeps a grip on the front of my shirt, so I don’t move very far. He doesn’t bother to look up at me, so his eyes are level with my neck.

“Please,” he whispers, “don’t deny yourself. Or me.”

**(AN: I have a history essay due tomorrow morning to write but I needed to get this chapter out so no regrets! hope you like it!)**


	13. Alexander's Swollen Lips and Laf's Gayness Tips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // laf the therapist //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah i wrote only one part in this chapter have i been kidnapped and replaced?

When I get back to the dorm, Lafayette’s sitting in only his boxers, acrylic paints sprawled out around the floor and a canvas in the middle. He has a paintbrush in his mouth.

“What is this?” I ask, genuinely confused, and Lafayette, probably just realizing that I’m here. He stands up and tries to cover himself before realizing that no one part of his body is more covered than the other, except for the area that the boxers cover.

“Oh… I was just painting.” He mumbles and finds a shirt on his bed to toss on. I look down at the picture, and see that it’s the shape of a head with a black background. The only part that has been painted is the skin and the mouth, both of which I recognized.

“Is that your girlfriend… Adrienne?” I ask him, and he nods.

“Yes. Isn’t she beautiful?” he stares at the portrait admiringly.

I nod absentmindedly and sit down on my bed. He begins to pack up his paints, and I don’t object, because the smell is giving me a headache.

I pull myself down under the still-made sheets and cover my face with the blankets.

A few moments go by, then I feel breathing near my face.

“Mon ami? Alexander?” Lafayette whispers. I grunt inchorently.

“Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you want to me to go to Target, I can get you some Advil or Tylenol.” Offers Lafayette, and I pull the sheets from over my face.

“No, I’m not sick. Just… confused, I guess? I don’t know. I think I’m a ctually pretty happy, it’s just hard to be only one emotion, especially when the two emotions are diametric opposites.” I mumble and turn to face the wall.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I answer, taking off the covers and facing the ceiling.

“Your lips are swollen.” Lafayette remarks with a smirk, and I sigh.

“I kissed John. And that’s not a problem, because I liked it. And I know he liked it. And it’s not like that confuses my sexuality—the fact that I just happen to like everything that the world has to offer me isn’t new—but, it’s just… John, he kissed me. After the first time I kissed him, he kissed me. Seperately. So it wasn’t even like he was doing it to be polite. I was talking and I was just so worked up that I couldn’t get words out and he just held my hand and then kissed me. It was amazing, but, Laf, he says he’s not gay. At first, I was all like, 'Okay, I’m not either' because I’m _not_ gay, I like guys but not exclusively. And then he said that he didn’t like guys. And then he kissed me! Because he’s not gay—and he apparently has no attraction for the male gender! Please explain to me right now if, all this time, I’ve been a girl and just so unaware of it, because—well, I’d be the hottest girl—that would actually be kinda cool. Ooh, I should write that. Besides the point! I’m not a girl! I know I’m a guy! And I know that Laurens liked kissing me!” I can feel my face heat and my blood pound and I feel like I’m going to nod off from internal heat stroke.

I turn back to Lafayette, and he’s looking toward the ceiling, deep in thought. He looks back down at me.

“Sorry. You were going super fast and you got a bit colloquial,” he doesn’t say anything for a few more seconds until he looks ready to speak, “I think that John knows he’s gay somewhere. You cannot forget that he was raised in the South. From my knowledge of America, the South is where homophobes congregate. You didn’t come from the same environment, you know? He told me his parents were super big on taking everything the Bible said word-for-word, and I can infer that they weren’t too big on the idea of their son being gay. He probably showed some signs and his parents sent him away to a camp to berid of the gay.” Lafayette explains.

**(AN: Gosh, I had to step so carefully on that paragraph, but note: personally I’m not a Christian, but I do know that not all Christians are homophobic. Don’t get shook, thanks. Back to your regularly scheduled fanfic.)**

I ponder over what he says for a bit. It actually makes more sense than I thought it would. When John was talking to me, he said that it was easier for him to say that he had a girl over than say he had a friend— _probably_ because that friend could be a guy and that friend could, well, be sleeping in his bed in a less platonic way. 

I instantly feel bad. I don’t want to pressure John into doing anything with me he doesn’t want, and who am I to tell him what his sexuality is, but I can’t let him live in this bubble forever. I can’t let him forever believe that he’s the straight “perfect son” his father may want him to be.

I don’t respond to Lafayette, but he can tell that I’ve thought what he said over. He places his paints in a bag and holds his canvas in one arm, grabbing his key.

“I’m going to go ahead and find an empty place to paint. Good luck.” He shouts once he leaves the doorway.

I turn back over onto my back and pull my phone out of my pocket. I decide on texting John—but telling him what? That I’m sorry he’s probably been sexually repressed but that my fucking mini-infatuation is a more pressing matter?

I don’t have a chance to say any of that, because, once I opened our messages, I see that he’s sent something.

**John: Call me.**

**Me: did I leave something at ur house again or??**

**John: No.**

**John: Can you just call me?**

**Me: ok**

I open his contact and press the call button. It rings three times before John picks up.

“Hello?” he asks, like he doesn’t know it’s me. 

“Hey.” I answer. I can hear him sit down and I imagine him sitting down on his bed, still unmade.

“Listen… I regret earlier today. I handled things pretty badly. I shouldn’t have walked out and I shouldn’t have, you know, acted that way.” He breathes deeply.

“I don’t.” 

“What?” He’s confused.

“I don’t know what you’re really referring to.” I say, self-concious of sounding difficult but unable to not object.

“I just…” he begins, and trails off. My heart beats quicker.

“John?” I call his name.

“Yes?”

“Come over? It would be easierto talk that way.” 

It seems like eternity goes by before he speaks.

“I’ll be there in a few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! share your opinions in the comments && leave kudos if you liked it pls!! ily all!!


	14. Social (And Other Types of) Strides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> navigation // what he wants // schuyler sister 2

From my place in one of the floor lounges, sprawled amongst paints, I see John approach the general area of Alexander and I’s dorm and sigh confusedly.

“Are you looking for me or Alexander? Because I, personally, find myself much more… calming than Alexander. I cannot guarantee he’s not hanging from a ceiling fan and screaming if he somehow got ahold of coffee.” I mutter, not looking up from my painting. I’m just perfecting the light that bounces off Adrienne’s cupid’s bow. He turns to me, shaken.

“Oh! Umm, yeah, ha, I don’t really remember how to get to y’all’s room… I’ve only been here with Alexander once.” He’s holding two small brown paper bags.

“It’s the one right there.” I point with the long paintbrush and John smiles, walking towards the door.

-

-

John Laurens is standing in my doorway. I can’t help but survey him, looking at him up and down for a second.

_Control your impulses, Alex._

“Alexander…” Laurens trails off, avoiding looking me in the eyes.

“John. Come in.” I open the door farther and he steps in. I close the door behind him.

“I… God, I sound pathetic, but I found French toast. It was this little place a few blocks the other way from my apartment, I wanted to… I don’t know. It’s pity toast?” He asks himself, or me, I don’t know. I laugh and take one of the brown paper sacks he has in his hands, anyway.

“I’ll take your pity toast, John. I have no problem benefitting from whatever benefits me. You call it pity toast, I call it 'I get French toast, what’s the issue'.” I say, and John smiles.

“Okay. Well, I just want to say that I’m s—“ John begins, but I cut him off.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry, John. I get it—well, not get it completely, but I think I know why you acted the way you do. I did shitty things, you did some shitty things, but I feel like we shouldn’t apologize for past actions because I’m not hurt by them and I hope you’re not hurt by anything that I’ve done, either.” The end of my sentence tilts up in a question.

“No, I’m not hurt.” John doesn’t expand on his statement, and I take the French toast out of the bag and begin to eat. John notices and takes a bite of his.

“I feel like right now,” I swallow the food, “we should focus more on what we actually want. I wanted to kiss you. I kissed you. You wanted to kiss me. You kissed me. Are we gonna go anywhere from here, or is this something we’re gonna ignore? Do you want to… go farther witih you and I, or does this, like, get left behind?” 

“I think…” John begins, then makes a face.

“Alexander?” he asks.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Do you like the food?” he contorts his face even farther, swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“It’s…” I trail off, not wanting to admit that it tastes like a rotten egg, because he clearly wanted to do something nice for me.

“Terrible?” John remarks with a laugh.

“God, yes.” I snort, breaking into a fit of laughter.

“I took the largest bite—I’m gonna go wash my mouth out.”

He runs to the bathroom and I hear the tap turn on for a moment. In the meantime, I throw way both of our bags. 

He comes back, water splattered around the neckline hem of his shirt. 

Fuck.

God, I’m gonna do something stupid.

I do.

Standing up, I walk toward John.

“Can I?” I ask him, inches away from his face. He looks into my eyes and looses a breath.

“God, yes,” he mutters, and presses his lips to mine and begins to kiss me. His hands fall to my hips, pulling me closer to him, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

I’m the one who breaks off the kiss this time, and he leaves his arms on my hips.

“What do you want, Laurens.” I whisper, not a question.

“I want… this.” Laurens responds. I step away.

“Just kissing? Or… you and I? In other… non-friendly ways?” Wow, I’m a master of words.

Laurens ponders for a moment, and I’m glad he’s considering this.

“I want this. I want us.” He says, and, instead of kissing him, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face into him. He hugs me back, and I take a long breath.

-

-

I can’t resist peeking in the dorm to see what John and Alexander are doing. I leave my paints in the lounge, unlock the door, and have to stifle a grin when I see that John and Alexander are hugging.

A girl I don’t recognize walks by, and I smile at her.

“I am a matchmaker—I was the one who sent him to this room. I’ve shipped it from the beginning.” I tell her, even though the beginning was two days ago.

She smiles politely, and I stick my hand out for her to shake.

“Gilbert de Lafayette. I go by Lafayette.” I tell her, and she takes my hand and shakes it lightly.

“Elizabeth Schuyler. Eliza. Pleasure to meet you,” says the girl politely, and a bell rings in my head.

“Schuyler? Are you… Peggy’s sister?” I ask her. They don’t look alike. Like… at all. Elizabeth looks half Chinese and Peggy looked more similar to Adrienne.

“Yes, she’s my little sister. You’ve met her?” Eliza asks, and somehow we’re now both walking towards somewhere—I don’t know where.

“She’s in my psychology class. She seems like a nice person, we exchanged numbers… She also likes the color yellow a lot, I could tell. I can also tell that you seem to like the color blue… Is this the 'Schuyler Sister''s thing?” I say, noting her fitted shirt, skinny jeans, and handbag—all of the same shade of blue. 

“Oh… Yes. When we were younger, Angelica—she’s our older sister—used to make us play dress-up. Peggy was always Belle, I was always Cinderella, and Angelica was always Aurora. Not particularly because they were our personalities, just because we liked the dresses. Well, one day we decided to leave the house all wearing the colors of the princesses we liked, and it stuck. I guess it would just feel… betraying… to stop doing it. We don’t mind, we just build our wardrobes around a certain color scheme. Plus, it looks really cool at organized events.” She smiles, and stops walking at a door to a dorm. 

“It’s been nice, Lafayette. You seem cool.” She says, taking a dorm key out of her purse. 

“Thanks, I can say the same about you. Is this… is this your dorm? I didn’t know it was co-ed.” I say, confused. Eliza shakes her head, laughing.

“No, no… My boyfriend lives here. He’s sick, I went to go get him some Tylenol,” she says, pulling it out. She stops before opening the door, “On Friday, after your last class—my sister and I have this tradition where at the end of the first week of classes, we camp out and movie marathon some series. This year, Angelica got an apartment and Peggy’s coming, too. You should come, if you’re not too busy. I’ll have Peggy give you the info.” 

I beam at her, and she reciprocates.

“I’d love to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked it, pls leave a comment and/or kudos? :)


	15. More Plot Introductions (We're Still Doing This?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> freud // sun allergies & comfortability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah guys,, 2 chapters in 2 hours? i'm writing like i'm running out of time

By the time I had perfected Adrienne’s nose and cheeks, my eyes feel grainy, so I pack up my things and walk back to the dorm. I knock twice, checking to see if John and Alexander wanted me to stay out, but when I didn’t hear Alexander’s voice saying anything, I walk in, anyway.

John is sitting on Alexander’s bed, back leaning against the wall, and is typing on his phone. Alexander is laying on top of his sheets and sleeping, sprawled out.

“I didn’t know what to do. One moment, he’s telling me about how shit the current American foreign relations are, and then he nods off. I think he finally came off his high.” John says without looking up from his phone. I laugh and set my paints in the closet, putting down the actual canvas onto the desk.

“If you’re inhabiting the space, do you want to work on the psychology homework together?” I ask him, pulling out the textbook, a notebook, and a pen.

John nods, hopping off the bed. He sits down next to me at the desk, sliding the painting to the side. He finds one of Alex’s pens that are scattered across the surface of his half of the desk. I hand him a sheet of paper and read the first question aloud.

“ _Sigmund Freud’s theory states that sexual repression is what?_ ” I recite. John mumbles to himself for a moment, thinking.

“The, um, inability to express one’s sexuality the way desired. It can be self-inflicted or societal.” John answers decidedly, beginning to write on his paper. I avoid chuckling at the irony and write down the answer, as well.

I look back to the textbook for the next question.

“Um… The next question says,” I begin, clearing my throat, “ _According to Freud, almost everyone experiences some form of minor or major sexual repression, regardless of sexuality or upbringing. Think and describe what this may be for you.”_ I say, managing to keep a straight face. God, watching him react to this is going to be hilarious.

 _Wait, he doesn’t know that I know about him and Alexander_ …

He looks as if he’s pretending to be deep in thought. 

“Ah! You know what, I just remembered, my landlord is stopping by my place tonight to see if everything’s all good. Weird, you know, he doesn’t live in the building. Anyway… I should go now, so I can get that over with and finish all my homework and get to sleep, oh, tell Alexander that uh…” he digs through his pockets and pulls out his keys, “Uh, that… He should text me. We could all grab lunch if our breaks are close enough. You know what, they probably aren’t. Actually, Alex’s might be. He’s all ahead and stuff. Not that you’re stupid, I would never say that, because you’re not. Just, you know, Alexander’s my age and is in his freshman year, so obviously he’s manipulated his way into advanced classes. Okay bye!” 

John walks out the door, and I finally burst out into a fit of laughter. Let’s see how long it takes for him to tell me.

- 

-

Jay lets out a cough, and I chew on the inside of my cheek.

“Jay,” I begin, pushing the Tylenol towards him. He shakes his head no.

“Eliza, no. I already took it. We can just wait this out, you know?” he says, sipping from the bottle of water in his hand. I take it from him and set in on the floor, then rest my arms on his legs, which are draped across my lap on the bed. 

“Jay, you know that the last time this happened—“ he cuts me off.

“I know what happened the last time. And I’m better now. It’s probably not even viral. I’m probably fine.” He insists.

“The 'probably' part scares me, Jay. Just let me call your mother. What if it is viral? You know that your immune system can’t take that again. Please.” I beg him. He shakes his head firmly, and I breathe in.

“Jay,” I beg.

“No.” He repeats.

“Jay, I just want to make sure that you don’t…” I trail off, fiddling with the lid of the Tylenol.

“That I don’t what? Die? Christ, Eliza, you’re so dramatic. I’ll be fine.” He says, punctuating his sentence with a hacking fit. I resist the urge to run my hands through his hair to comfort him.

“I’m gonna go. I have some homework to do, and Maria’s going to be confused if I’m not back in my room soon. She knows I don’t really go anywhere or do anything.” I say absentmindedly, adjusting my shirt and leaving the Tylenol and water bottle within his reach. I know I’m halfway lying, I don’t have any homework today. Professors went easy on me, I guess.

“Call me if you need anything.” I say, and head out the door. He doesn’t stop me.

 

Once I’m back at the girls’ dorms, I go up to my room. Unlocking the door, I call out Maria’s name when I don’t see her anywhere.

The door to the bathroom opens, and she appears, hair wrapped in a towel and only in a pair of underwear.

I should be comfortable with this, she’s been my roommate since freshman year.

I am comfortable with this, too comfortable, that’s the whole isssue here.

“Hey, Lizzie McGuire. How’s Jay?” She asks, putting her leg up on her bed and lotioning her skin.

I put my purse down on my own bed with a resigned sigh.

“Not good. I think he has pneumonia again, and it sounds viral. I’m gonna tell the campus medical people in the morning, but I’m not a med student so I could be overreacting. He’s probably right, he probably just has a cold, or strep, or allergies…”

Maria turns back to look at me.

“It’s the middle of summer. What would he be allergic to? Sun?” she laughs.

I ignore the valid point she makes, instead deciding to change into a pair of pajamas and crawling into bed. 

It just might all be better in the morning.


	16. The Schuyler Sisters (and Maria) (and Lafayette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-screwed // unnecessarily sexual // X-Men-athon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this chapter (not bc my skills are overwhelmingly good,, just it's such fluff i'm in love)

My apartment is cold when I get back, and I’m grateful of that. My blood has been pumping ever since lunch, and it feels nice to cool down for once, becuase I haven’t gotten much better since Hamilton and I…

Hamilton and I.

_Are we a thing? I don’t know. All we did was make out a bit and then he fucking dozed off becuase he was so doped up on coffee._

_What if that’s the only reason he did this?_

_What if Alexander doesn’t want to be with me, but the coffee does?_

_Coffee isn’t a drug, John, get your shit together and stop thinking that way._

I breathe.

Twice.

Three times.

I really hope my dad doesn’t come on a suprise visit—in which case, I’d be royally screwed.

-

-

By the end of classes Friday, all I want to do is eat and sleep. After a quick stop at the dining hall to grab some food, I somehow make it back to the dorms and pass out on top of my bed.

I’m awaken God knows how much later by my phone ringing. I answer it without checking the caller ID.

“Hey,” I manage.

“Alex? Hey, what’s up? I’m done with classes. You wanna come over? We can watch stupid shit and make fun of it together,” John says. I picture him walking around his house, nervoudly awaiting a response.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come if you come and pick me up.” 

“What? Alex, you know I don’t have a car here. Not like I’d want to drive it in the streets this time of day on a Friday. I’d never get anywhere.” 

I yawn.

“I’m exhausted, John. I didn’t get any sleep last night, I was too busy drafting my semester-end paper, so I quadrupled up on coffee this morning. I’m feeling the aftereffects right about now.” I begin to close my eyes. He says something else, but I’m not paying attention anymore, drifting off into sleep.

 

There’s a knock at the door. I open my eyes, confused, and realize that I must have fallen asleep. I go to open the door and find John, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

“Way to perpetuate that 'jock' stereotype,” I say, stretching my arms above my head.

“Hardy har, all I know is that it’s indicative of your sleeping schedule that you fell asleep in the middle of a call,” John doesn’t step in until a few seconds pass, then asks, “You coming?”

I run my hand through my hair confusedly.

“What?” I breathe, causing him to laugh again, and harder.

“My place. We can chill, whatever you want, really. If I leave you here, I don’t trust that you won’t accidentally suffocate yourself by falling asleep facefirst into your Poli Sci textbook. Lafayette’s at that thing with those girls, so he can’t be held responsible for your theoretical death, either.” John, as if to make a point, goes up to my desk and shuts my Poli Sci book that I’d left open after my first class.

I shake my head.

“Fine. I’m coming. Also, did you seriously walk here just to walk back?” I ask him.

“Nah, I took the Metro. Been waiting to use my Metro card this year, every year at the beginning of the semester it’s like losing your Metro virginity all over again. Truly amazing, you’ve gotta experience it.” John shoves the book in the corner and I pause as I shove my phone into my back pocket.

“You said you don’t want me to fall asleep in my textbook…” I begin, hoping he’ll answer my unsaid question.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah.” Is all he says, turning to face me.

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” I ask slowly.

“Possibly,” he responds, and conciously takes a step back so that we’re not only a few inches away from each other’s mouths.

We haven’t kissed since Monday.

Shit is complicated.

“Does this possibility require me to bring pajamas? Or does this possibility tell me to say 'fuck it' and scavenge for clothes like my ancestors did?” I ask him.

“Unnecesarily sexual.” He says.

I step closer.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say tauntingly, lifting my head up. He stares at me, expression unreadable, for a while, then turns halfway to the other side.

“This possibility says to bring a toothbrush so your dental hygeine doesn’t decline.” John says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

_So it’s a yes._

“Toothbrush it is, then.”

-

-

I figure the Schuylers’ movie night, like John’s, is not a sans-vetements gathering, so I show up in a t-shirt and dark sweatpants. The oldest sister’s apartment’s address is on my phone, and I’m being navigated to the building as I begin thinking what it will be like—my very second American social gathering. With girls. Adrienne won’t mind, though. She trusts me. I trust her.

The apartment complex is farther away than I’d expected, and I wish I’d taken the subway, but I’m already here. It’s smaller than John’s, which suprises me, because, from what I’ve heard from Peggy and Eliza, their father is a rich senator, just like John’s. Then again, they also said that Angelica refuses to take his handouts and has earned a full academic scholarship to NYU, has a job that helps her pay for her apartment and her bills, and generally is more independent.

Someone from the apartment buzzes me in, and I walk up a few flights of stairs, get to the right floor, and find the right door. When I knock on it, within seconds, a girl I don’t recognize answered. Her hair is loosely tied up, and I’m relieved to see she has on a set of red pajamas. I’m more-or-less dressed correctly for the occasion. She smiles, and I feel as if all the attention in the world is being directed towards me.

“You must be Lafayette,” she says, her voice cheery and a bit sultry all at once, “I’m Maria. Come in. Today, we’re gonna be trying our best to marathon the X-Men movies. In chronological order.” She says from over her shoulder as she walks in. I follow behind her, closing the door, and see a rather large living area, most of the space taken up by a huge fort, similar to one I’d made with Adrienne when we were in primary school.

A head of straight black hair pops out from under the fort, and Eliza’s radiant smile flashes. 

“Lafayette! You made it! Come, meet Angelica! I duck down to underneath the huge—and I mean huge, like, it goes to almost the top of the walls—fort and crawl in. Maria comes in from another entrance and rests next to Eliza, who puts her head on Maria’s shoulder. Peggy’s sitting on a few pillows, wrapped up in a pastel _yellow_ blanket, eating popcorn. Another girl—Angelica, I assume—sits in a pink beanbag chair with the remote to a T.V in her hand.

She smiles at me.

“You must be Lafayette. So nice to meet you, Peggy and Eliza are always talking about you, I didn’t know if they’d formed a harem or something with this new French guy.” She says with a laugh, confidence radiating off her in waves.

“I could say the same for you. Not the harem part—Peggy and Eliza talk about you so much, I feel like I already know you.” I smile.

She laughs and says something else before hooking up her laptop to the TV and finding the first movie.

“Alright, first up, X Men: First Class. Be warned, weak minded, for, according to my IMDb calculations, we’ll be here for a whooping about 6 hours. And that’s not even half of the series—yeah, by the way, Angelica, can we stop after Origins: Wolverine? That’s about 6.16 hours total.” Peggy turns to her older sister, who nods.

“Of course.”

“I thought that the first movie was just _X Men_.” I shoot into the air, which solicits a laugh from everyone.

“Have you never seen any of the movies?” Maria asks, poking her head over Eliza’s to see mine better. I shrug.

“I mean, no, but I saw the trailers for the first two. The first one was _X Men_ and the second one was _X2_.” I explain, though I’m beginning to doubt myself.

“No, well yes… That’s the order they were made in. The story line goes back and forth a lot. It’s a wild ride, so we’re doing this marathon in three parts. Tonight, tomorrow night, and next Friday night. Clear your schedule, Marquis. You’re chilling with the Schuyler sisters now.” 

Angelica pops in the first DVD, but not before Maria chimes in, “And Maria.”

**(Idk if you guys have seen that video, but it’s off Groff in his Kiing George costume and he’s like “work work Angelica, work work, Eliza,” and then Jasmine comes on in her Maria outfit and says, “and Maria”. I hope you guys have seen that video, or else this was just a weird place to end this chapter. BTW, I’m finishing this chapter on Monday, but the WiFi at the condo I’m staying at is sucky so I’ll publish this Tuesday morning.)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are going to love the next chapter,, I'm almost finished with it so it may come out today ;)


	17. Angst, Angst, and A Whole Chapter for Lams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // ANGST //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a preface, I’ve never been more glad to be Caribbean. I actually know the validity and cultural accuracy of the foods I’m writing about and it’s so cool lmao. Also, the food they’re making is called dumplins but I’m gonna spell it dumplings because it’s *technically dumplings in most other cultures, even though those are a completely different food, and we just dropped the 'g'* and they’re usually eaten with something else, but I’ve always eaten them alone. And I felt like this scene would be cute and progressive, so I chose for Alex to be weird like me. Enjoy.

“No.” 

I tilt my head back and half-whine, “Whyyyy?”

John crosses his arms but I know he can’t help but smile.

“You’re not going to be cooking in my kitchen. I don’t even know if you _can_ cook. I don’t want you to start a fire.” John pulls his sweater off and throws it on the couch. I half-consciously adjust it to where it won’t fall down, but John doesn’t notice.

“This is, like, the first thing anyone in the Carribean learns to cook. Besides, it’s the easiest thing to make in the world. All you need is flour, baking powder, salt, and water. Oh, and oil.” I begin to rummage through his cabinets and find all of those things.

“You are _so_ lucky that I always overshop when it comes to groceries.”

 

“Are you telling me you actually don’t know how to knead dough?” I ask Laurens, dumbfounded. A flush rises to his cheeks. He shrugs his shoulders and I look down to the bowl in front of him, which can be best described as… soup. But made of expired human flesh. I tell John just that, and he groans.

“Well, it was hard to knead so I added some more water. Then it got too watery, so I added more cornstarch. Then, I was scared it would be inbalanced and wouldn’t rise, so I put more baking powder in. Then, everything was too dry and so I added even more water. Now it’s just… human chowder.” He tosses his hands down in surrender. 

“Alright, it’s not that bad, I can fix this.” I say, taking over, and adding just enough of everything to where it’s thick enough. The oil on the stove is heating up, and I feel the warmth near my back.

I seperate a piece of the dough and place it on the counter, leaving the other one for John.

“Just, imagine that this dough just took nineteen finals in twenty minutes and you’re its massage therapist. Use your knuckles, and if it’s too sticky, only add flour to your hands.

John makes a noise halfway between a whine and a groan and begins to knead.

 

“Okay, you’re right, these are so fucking good.” John says, finishing his 3rd dumpling. I smile at him, taking a piece and popping it in my mouth.

“I know, right? All my family always thought I was weird for eating them by themselves…” I trail off unintentionally and loose focus as I stare into my plate.

 _'All my family'. Like what? My mother? My brother? Our landlord? Is that what I call a family? John probably has a mother that smells like cinnamon rolls and made him snacks when he came home from school and a lot of_ living _siblings that he played basketball with and went to their events and tournaments. He probably had family dinners with his extended family once a month, and he probably had actual Christmases, and all I got for Christmas after my mother died was a—_

“Alexander,” John’s voice is half-playful, but half-concerned. He noticed the topic I’d ended the conversation on.

“Sorry.” I say, finishing what was in my mouth. John stacks my plate on top of his and stands up to go put them in the sink. Once he rinses them, he turns to me.

“You know,” he says, breathing out, “My mom just died. And I’m not making this about me, just… You can talk to me, you know? We’re… friends. You can tell me stuff.” 

I draw my eyebrows together in concern, standing up and walking to him.

“Oh, my God, why didn’t you tell me? When’s the funeral?”

John laughs cynically.

“Uh, two years ago. She died towards the end of my senior year. I was so shaken up by it—it came out of nowhere—that my grades dropped. Hit rock bottom. I lost my scholarship here, I got kicked off of the high school football team, and the recruiter from here dropped me as his pick. My father ended up having to pay for my college fully. Eventually, I got a grant to help pay it, I feel bad, you know? I know you probably went through a different experience, but… I get it. I get what it’s like to lose your world. My mother was the only person who understood me. My father wanted me to be perfect, all my siblings were too much younger than me for us to relate on a level more than that of an older brother and his younger siblings. My mom knew me—all of me—and always knew what to say, when to say it, when to not say anything, when to chew me out for being an idiot, everything. I really miss her,” his voice fades into a whisper, then he just mouths a stream of words that I’m not so sure are actually words. 

My hand accidentally brushes against the side of his leg, and I let it linger before pulling away.

“You’re great, John—you know that? I haven’t known you for very long, really, but, well, look how far we’ve gotten. We’re… friends. And anyone who can’t understand how great you are is missing out for themselves. I know there’s still more to you that I should know, but I’m not afraid.” I shake my head.

“Alexander—listen, I don’t really think that… You don’t know me, Alexander. I’ve messed up countless times, I’m not nearly as great as you think I am.” He says, closing his eyes and cuking in a deep breath.

 I grab his hand and he opens his eyes.

“I’m willing to get to know you. I want to. So let me. _Please_.” 

John slowly leans in and begins to kiss me, heady with a mix of desire and closely-leashed restraint that makes me want to rip my hair out in (albeit sexual) frustration.

His tongue slips inside of my mouth, and I let out a pleased noise.

I walk backwards, feeling with one hand until we reach his room. We don’t break the kiss, but, when we’re in his room, he lays me on the bed. He touches the hemline of my shirt and nudges it up until it’s basically off, and I slip it off over my head.

He raises himself and looks at me a few times, breath clearly shaky. When he goes back down, he stops what seems to be millimeters away from my face, trembling with restraint.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers so quietly that I’m sure I heard it wrong.

“What?”

He presses his forehead against mine, breathing in. 

“Tell me to stop this,” he repeats, louder, and I move my hands to his neck.

“What if I don’t want you to stop? Do _you_ want to stop?” I ask him, trying to make him open his eyes, but he won’t.

“No. I don’t want to stop, that’s the thing.” 

“Then don’t.” I state simply, but he shakes his head firmly and raises himself off of me and sits upright a few feet away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him, not getting up yet. He looks down at me.

“I don’t—no, not really. I—my dad—-I can’t do this. You need to leave.” He says with a straight face, and I laugh bewilderedly.

“You’re kidding.” I say, dumbfounded.

“Get out.” He repeats, turning away from me.

“Are you serious?” I sit up, and he doesn’t respond. I turn my head to the side slightly, beyond pissed.

“Wow—wow, okay. I’ll go. I’m going.” I stand up and snatch my shirt from the bed, walking out of his bedroom door, through his living room, and out of his door. It slams behind me, and I want to go back and slam it a million more times.

“He kicked me out after fucking doing all this to me? I can’t believe this guy. Wow. I really should not trust guys I meet on the fucking side of the street. I’m just—I can’t.” I say to myself as I walk through the lobby and then the front doors.

-

-

“You’re a total _idiot_ , John.” Says a voice over the phone.

“Hello? Who is this?” I ask, adjusting the hemline of my shirt. I walk out into the kitchen and push in the chair I left out, purposefully ignoring Alex and I’s altercation from a few minutes ago.

“Peggy Schuyler. I’m here—noooo, shut up—I’m here with Lafayette and my sisters, we’re watching some movies… Wait, that’s not important. Anyway, Lafayette got a call a minute ago from Alex, and we could hear his yelling from the phone. He’s pissed. What the fuck did you do—leave me alone, Angelicaaaaa, I can say what I want to!” I can hear movement from the other side of the line. I don’t know Peggy that well, but her sister Eliza and I were pretty good friends freshman year. So far, I haven’t seen her this year, though.

“I… It’s complicated, okay?” I manage to get out, leaning against the counter.

“I have time. Unlike you. Because, as far as I can tell, Alex is sitting on a bench somewhere about three minutes from your place, so, if you want to try to fix this before it gets worse, I suggest fessing up to me while you walk to try and find him.” Peggy says, and I make no effort to move.

“I don’t hear you moving.” She stresses, agitated.

“I think it’s better if I don’t,” I start, but Peggy starts talking before I can say anything more.

“Look, do you think it’ll be easier to clean up what you’re doing now, before Alexander has time to sulk and decide that he’s done with your shit, or wait until later and have to explain even more?” asks Peggy rhetorically.

I sigh, find my keys, and walk out of my apartment.

“Good,” she says, hearing me press the button on the elevator, “Now can you tell me what happened so I can relay it to Lafayette and my sisters? Everyone’s curious.”

_Oh, my God—everyone knows._

“Wha—how did—“ I make myself start talking and breathe, “I kicked him out when things were starting to get…serious.” I explain. Peggy doesn’t say anything for a bit, and it seems like she’s covering the microphone and talking to someone else. I step out of the main doors of the lobby and into the cool air.

Finally, another voice—Eliza—says, “John, he’s on the bench in front of that billboard for the marine life observatory. He’s pretty upset, I think. I’m gonna text you my number, we should talk sometime, once you guys have this all sorted out?” she ends with a question, and I say yes. She hangs up after a second, and I put my phone in my pocket.

After a few minutes of walking, I see Alexander’s light blue shirt, on backwards, and him sitting with his knees spread and elbows on each knee.

I slow down my gait until I reach him. I know he knows I’m here, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Alexander, I’m sorry.” I apologize, and he doesn’t say anything for a second or two until he finally faces me.

“Alright, look, John—I understand if you don’t want to go all the way with me, if we’re not there yet, that’s fine, I’m okay with that. Just, I gave you a chance on whether or not you wanted to—continue this thing, and you said yes. And I don’t know if it’s different in your book, but I don’t quite think that kicking me out of your apartment at 8 at night is continuing anything. Just tell me _right now_ if this is how it’s gonna be so I can stop wasting my own fucking time!” Alexander yells, and his face is red and his knuckles are white. The few people on the street turn to look at him, but he’s silent for long enough that they turn away and continue to walk.

“I do want to continue this, okay? I just freaked out. My dad—I had my phone on my bed, I had just put it there, and it turned on and I saw that I had a missed call from him, and I got so scared that he’d know, and—“ 

“How the hell would he know, John?” Alexander asks, with more bite than I’ve seen him use before.

“I don’t know. I just, I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about how he got so happy for me when I—nevermind.” I decide against saying much more. Alexander doesn’t bother leaving silence in the gaps of our conversation. Instead, he turns and looks up to me for the first time.

“Would it be different if I was a girl?” Alexander asks, his eyes cloudy. I don’t say anything, and I guess that’s answer enough.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kicked you out. It was pretty dumb of me.” I sit down next to him, and he’s still looking at me as if he’s thinking something over in his head.

“Yeah, that was pretty dumb.” Alex answers, his mood shifting abruptly. “You wanna go back up?” 

I turn to him, a smile on his face. 

“Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading (this is my longest chapter yet and it's *rightfully* all lams) I hope you liked it, leave kudos & comments if you did :)


	18. 10 Fighting Commandments (ft. a PVC pipe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERCULES MULLIGAN // c h a r l e s is back

I’m not the first to wake up. When I open my eyes, I see that Angelica and Peggy are talking about something and Peggy’s laughing, and Eliza is scrolling through her phone, laying in Maria’s lap. Angelica is the first one to notice I’m awake.

“Gilby! You’re awake! So, I didn’t get a chance to ask you yesterday, how did you like the movies?” Angelica stops her conversation with Peggy to say.

“I enjoyed them very much, thank you. It’s just weird that the… quality of the filming… is tht right? The quality of the filming was so different every movie because of the time gap between their making.” I say, and stretch.

Peggy says, “I know. It’s weird for me, too. Hey, anyway, do you wanna grab breakfast with us in a few? Angelica insists that we have to go try this Turkish place. Apparently, they have the best food ever.” 

I shake my head no after some consideration.

“I’d love to, but I must decline. I need to go back to the dorms, shower, and change. Also, Adrienne will be calling me anytime now. I don’t want to miss it.” I explain, and Peggy nods. She’s the only one I’ve actually told about Adrienne, but she told her sisters.

“That’s too bad. We’ll miss you, but don’t forget, back here tonight at seven.” Eliza says, already energetic, and sits up. Maria stirs in her sleep next to her.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thanks for having me. _Au revoir, mes amis._ ” I say, getting out of the fort and walking out of her apartment.

 

Once I’m back at the dorms, I look for our room, and am thrown off for a second when I see a guy that I don’t know standing in front of the door. He doesn’t look to be college age, and is dressed very nicely. For a moment, I believe that he’s standing in front of the wrong door and will move once I walk up to the door, but he doesnt. Instead, he looks at me.

“Do you know if this is where Alex stays?” asks the man as I unlock the door. I shrug, stepping inside and hoping he doesn’t follow me in. 

“Hamilton?” I ask him, still near enough to the doorway for him to hear me.

“Yeah. He told me that this was his dorm.” The guy looks around for a bit, as if seeing if he’d been pranked or something. 

“Ah, well, this is his dorm, yes. He spent the night—somewhere, I honestly don’t know, because he’s not here. If I have to place bets, though, my money is on John’s apartment,” I say, then turn to him, “Come in, if you want.” He does, sitting on Alexander’s bed, somehow knowing that it’s his already.

“John? Who’s John?” asks the guy, taking off his jacket and very carefully laying it on a bedpost.

“Um, John Laurens. He’s a… he’s nineteen, what does that make him, what’s the word for the second year?” I muse, genuinely confused.

The guy says, “Sophomore?” 

I snap my fingers and point at him.

“Yes! He’s a sophomore. They’re friends, I think. They met a week ago.” I take my hair out of it’s ponytail and sit on the bed, unsure of what else to do. I’m not going to take a shower while this guy is still in my dorm.

He seems to notice my mild uncomfortability and smiles.

“I’m Hercules Mulligan—I’m Alexander’s old flatmate, mentor, however you may call it. And you’re Lafayette, then?” he asks. I eye him for a bit, and then nod.

I hear another set of keys and then see Alexander come through the doorway.

“Herc! You’re here, and early, how like yourself. And you’ve met Lafayette, too. Has he talked your ears off, yet?” Alexander asks, his voice taking up nearly the entire room.

Hercules smiles and laughs.

“Nah, not yet, I guess. You still up for breakfast? We can bring along Mr. Yves Saint Laurent here, as well.” Hercules laughs, standing up and patting me on the back.

“Ha, well, he’s French, and you’re too obsessed with your fashion choices for your own good, so, put together, you’re the real deal.” Alexander looks up and down at his clothes, probably debating whether or not to shower beforehand.

“Actually,” I interject, though no actual conversation is going on, “I can’t go to breakfast at the moment, my Adrienne will be calling me any time now, and I have to shower and study and do other things of the sort.” I rock back and forth on my heels, smiling still.

“Ah,” Alexander clicks his tongue, “The girlfriend. I hope you guys are okay now, she seemed pretty pissed off at you the other day.” 

“Oh, no, all has been resolved. We’re two peas in a pod, if you will.” I smile now, more to myself, at the thought of Adrienne.

“Too platonic of an expression, it makes you seem like you’re sufficiently ticked off at being friendzoned. How about two di—“ Alex laughs, and Hercules elbows him.

“Alright, okay, Alex. Breakfast it is, and try not to corrupt too many Frenchmen while you’re at it.” He cuts him off, escorting him out of the doorway.

He waves at me before shutting the door again.

-

-

The coffee machine’s incessant bubbling seems to always get on my nerves, especially in the early morning. Well, 9 A.M.

I lean against my counter, staring off into space and waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

I take it out without looking and answer the call, pressing my phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I answer.

“John, how are you? How was your first week of classes? Do you like your major, are the classes right for you?” My dad asks, a bit of venom coming into his voice at the last question. He’d wanted me to major in law, told me that I should declare my major in freshman year and start taking classes then, but I never wanted to major in law, and so I put off declaring a major all of freshman year. Then, on my course selection forms this year, I declared my major as psychology. He pitched a complete fit and insisted that I’d be throwing away my life if I did something like that. I guess that was the first time I’d ever actually stood up to him.

“They’re great, super interesting.” I respond, pretending not to notice his tone.

“Good, good. And Alexander?” he asks, keeping the same tone. I’m about to answer, when I realize that… _he shouldn’t know who Alexander is_.

“What?” I choke. I hear him settling into the leather chair in his office.

“I think you misspoke the other day, because Mr. Middleton remarked to me that he saw a seperate guy come up earlier that day. Alexander, I’m assuming. Or maybe you call him Alex. Your lies are insufficient and uncreative, at best.” He drawls. I hear the coffee machine go off, but I make no move to get it. 

“Uh, well—“

“You know, John, you don’t have to hide things from me. I’m okay with you having friends. I know that the… _situation_ with Charles wasn’t your doing, it was just that messed-up kid. You can tell me that you have friends, it’s okay.” Says my father, and I somehow breathe a breath of relief and anxiety at the same time.

“Thanks, Dad.” I say, and my father makes a noise that conveys a _’no problem’._

“Well, son, I’m glad you’re making some new friends. James and Martha say hi from home. Love you, kid.” 

“Love you, too, Dad.” I respond. He hangs up after saying goodbye, and I discard my phone onto the bed, where I sit down and run my hands through my hair.

“ _Fuck,_ ” I mutter to myself, then grab my keys and walk out the door.

The air outside is still warm, despite it being early September, and it’s not doing much to help clear my mind. Why did I go out, anyway?

I don’t answer myself, and instead begin to walk to absolutely nowhere, taking random turns and backstreets.

On one of those backstreet, I realize a few seconds too late that I’m about to bump into some guy’s shoulder. When we collide, I only stop walking for a second and, without turning around, call out an apology.

“Hey!” the guy calls out, and I turn to him. It’s Charles, oh God.

“Charles, what do you wa—“ I begin, but stop halfway through my sentence when his fist collides with my left cheek. Instinctively, I put my hand to my cheek to feel the damage.

“What the hell, Charles?” I exclaim, and, seeing that he’s not answering, throw a punch at him, aiming for his nose.

I land a good hit, and blood slowly begins to trickle down his nose. He looks up at me, and I can almost see steam coming out of his ears. 

Before he can get the chance to strike again, I use my other hand to land a punch on the side of his face. He lands a blow on my temple, and I feel the shock of the impact roll through my head like a bell, but the adrenaline in me is pumping hard enough that I don’t feel the pain of collision.

He grabs my shirt by the collar and tries to jack me up against the wall, but I bring my knee up to in between his legs forcefully. He keels over, and I take the opportunity to land a few good punches on him. I step back, breathing roughly, and turn to walk away.

After a step, I feel another blow land on my head, this one harder than before. I turn back around, ready to continue fighting, but I’m a second too slow, and Charles hits me in the head again with some cylindrical object. It’s so hard that it throws me off, and I stumble backwards a bit. He takes advantage of this and hits me three more times. After the last one, he drops the object and breathes heavily, turning and walking away.

The next collision I feel is that of my head hitting the pavement, and I can’t stop myself from drifting away from consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S 11:40 BUT IT'S STILL TECHNICALLY A FRIDAY UPDATE, ugh i've gotten about 4 hours of sleep today pls go easy on me i'm tired. well you guys know the drill, leave kudos and comment pls if you liked it! idk if I should continue this fanfic bc it's getting good but,, idk,, i guess I'll see in the next week or so how it's doing. i appreciate the support you all have given me with this fanfic! je t'aime et/y te quiero!


	19. Drinking Age Discussed and Laurens is Concussed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mind is older // amnesia

“When you said 'breakfast', Herc, I expected, like, some classy little bistro that serves eggs florentine or some shit.” I tell Hercules as he opens the door to a hole-in-the-wall Irish pub. He laughs, and the sound fills our section of the bar as we sit down.

“It helps me feel more…” he raises his hands above his head in a dramatic flourish, “in touch with my roots.” 

He bangs his fist on the bar playfully, and the bartender, a woman with dark black hair and hazel eyes, walks over to us.

“Hercules the Great, I see you’re back,” she says, clearing the space next to us of a few glasses, “I was beginning to think you’d never show. How long has it been… a week? A week and a half?” Her Irish accent coats her words.

Hercules laughs sarcastically.

“Well, my aplogies. Work has gotten me completely beat. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me the most of.” Requests Hercules, and the woman laughs and begins to pour him something from half-empty bottles.

“Rum and Coke,” I say, and Hercules flicks me behind my ear. The bartender looks up, confused.

“He’ll have that, minus the rum. He’s only nineteen.” He interjects, and I groan loudly. 

“But my _mind_ is older.” I protest. The bartender puts a can of Coke in front of me.

“Yeah, well, sorry that the law doesn’t consider cognitive ability to be a marker of age… most of the time.” Hercules takes a drink from his class and smiles.

“Amazing, as always, Liz.” He compliments her, and she smiles confidently, walking to the other side of the bar and helps another customer.

I take my phone out of my pocket, ready to text Laurens to say hey. When I left his apartment this morning, he was about 1% awake and 99% Frankenstein’s monster. Well, a very attractive Frankenstein, I’ll give him that.

When I unlock my phone, though, I see a text from Lafayette.

**Laffy Taffy: Alexandre I have bad news and I have good news**

I respond quickly.

**Me: bad news frist**

**Me: first**

**Me: whatever, bad news 1** ** st **

**Laffy Taffy: Ah**

**Laffy Taffy: It’s better if I give you the good news first**

**Me: okay, even though you could’ve came out and given me your preferred order in the first place.**

**Laffy Taffy: Well, if you’re going to be so grumpy about it, then I just won’t tell you.**

**Me: kk**

I leave my phone on my table with a grin, knowing that it won’t take long for Lafayette to give in and respond anyway.

I speak with Hercules for a while, all talking and laughing about old times and minimal begging him to do my laundry—just the delicates—and I finally look at my texts five minutes later.

I see a 4-minute old text from Lafayette.

**Laffy Taffy: I’m doing this for your sake. Anyway the good news is that I met this cool guy in my Calculus class, btw the class is boring, and we started talking, he seems super nice. He’s one of John’s teammates on the football team from last year, I think. Part 2 of the good news is that he texted me.**

**Me: ok**

**Me: nd the bad news?**

**Laffy Taffy: He texted me saying that John’s in the hospital.**

**Me: what?**

**Laffy Taffy: Oui, apparently he got knocked out, like he was in a videogame.**

**Me: perfect similie**

**Me: which hospital**

**Laffy Taffy: Bellevue.**

**Laffy Taffy: Wish I could come, still waiting for that call from Adrienne. Henry says they think he’ll be fine, though.**

**Me: alright ig I’ll make an appearance**

**Laffy Taffy: You’re not a celebrity. I know you’re just trying to play it cool.**

**Me: shut up**

I turn off my phone, sigh, and drink the rest of my Coke. I stand up from the stool, explain to Hercules what happened, and promise to text him later. We say our goodbyes, and I head out of the pub to be with John.

-

-

The only thing I can focus on as I come back to myself is the throbbing pain I feel in my head.

I move my hand to my forehead, only to realize that a needle is stuck into my wrist. I groan, putting back down my hand. Where am I?

I see a figure come closer to me, but I have to open my eyes wider than a squint to see who it is. I recgonize him as Henry, one of the guys I played with last year on the team.

“Hey, John,” he whispers, keeping a good half foot away from me. He puts his hand near me and I attempt to swat it away.

“What the—where am I?” I ask, knowing it’s a stupid question. I’m clearly in a hospital. The real question is why I’m at said hospital.

“Bellevue.” He answers, and sits down at a chair close to the side of the bed.

“How did I get here?” I ask, realizing that a good hour or two in my memory of today is _gone_.

“Charles. Kid’s weird. He randomly called me—why me, I have no idea—saying that you were on some random backstreet, beaten up and passed out. When I got there, he was nowhere to be found, and you were passed out,” he explains, then, “What happened, dude? Do you remember?”

Charles’ name jogs my memory.

“Charles…” I stutter, trying to form a single coherent picture of what happened, “he… I was walking and th—“

The door opens loudly, and we both turn our attention to that side of the room.

Alexander steps through the doorway, not turning to us, and shuts the door. It’s clear that he’s trying to be quiet… and failing.

Once he sees that the door has been shuts, he exhales and turns to us with a jump once he realizes we’ve seen him this whole time.

“Who are you?” Henry asks before I can greet him.

“Alexander Hamilton. Nobody in the process of being somebody, and I assume you’re Henry. Hey,” Alexander shakes his hand.

“Alex… What?” I ask, not able to get out my full question. He turns to me as if he’s just now realizing that I’m in the room.

“John,” he says, and makes to walk closer to me, but then decides against it and stays still, “uh, yeah, Lafayette texted me. Told me all about how you sustained a total K.O.” Alexander laughs.

“Yeah, I guess I did? I don’t really—“ I begin, but the doctor came in. Alexander sits down at a chair, while Henry rises to his feet.

“Mr. Laurens,” starts the doctor, smiling, “I see you’re awake. My nurses are saying you’ve been out for a bit now. Anyway, we just need to do a short exam to test and see if your concussion is too bad.”

“Concussion?” both Alexander and I ask at the same time. I say it aloud, while Alexander whispers it under his breath.

The doctor raises his eyebrows, flipping through what appears to be charts.

“Yes, I think the nurse may have told your friend, but you weren’t awake at the time. However, we cannot see the extent of it until we test your cognitive function, so…” he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of my nose and places his finger in front of my eyes. I follow it for a while until he makes an assenting noise, scribbling something down.

“Wha—How did I get it? The concussion, that is…” I ask, generally confused about everything.

“That’s not completely known. It seems you were hit multiple times upon the head with a blunt object. You’re a little rattled around, physically, but you should be fine,” he looks up to the ceiling and cocks his head to the side, “You don’t know what happened to you?”

I shake my head no, and he writes down more things, performs a few more tests, and finally exhales loosely.

“So,” he says, “You have a concussion—that’s been established—along with some short-term amnesia. We can’t do anything about the latter, but I can prescribe you some other medications for your head pain and dizziness. It seems you can remember yesterday, but not much of today, so, unless you signed up for a new credit card today, you’ll be able to function. You should remember in a short amount of time, though. For now, refrain from sports and activities that require too much brain function. I also believe that you should have someone with you who’s aware of your situation for a few days, just in case symptoms get worse. Besides that, let’s get to filing these discharge papers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, leave kudos && comments if you liked it!!


	20. Babysitter Fantasies (John, Are You--Okay?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john's sitter // adrienne

“You seriously don’t remember anything?” Alexander asks as we stop by the pharmacy to pick up my perscriptions.

I sign off on my name and smirk.

“Well, I was diagnosed with amnesia and don’t remember you leaving my house this morning, so I’d say I definitively don’t remember anything from _today_.” I rebutt.

Alexander takes the bag before I can get it and begins to walk out of the store. It doesn’t take long for me to match his short-legged strides.

“So…” he begins, and I look at him. He’s already looking at me. “You need a babysitter, John Laurens. I would be honored to fulfill that role.” 

“You’d help me finally live out my fantasy of kissing my babysitter.” I joke, pulling out my keys. We’re already at my house—the pharmacy isn’t too out of the way.

Alexander’s cheeks and chin redden, and I laugh at him.

“How cute,” I mutter to myself. He presses the 'up' button on the elevator. “But yeah, you can stay. If you want. Just until, like, Tuesday-ish.” I say again after a pause. He smiles largely, then tries to play it cool.

“Yeah, sure, I just gotta stop by my place and grab a few things first,” Alex says decidedly, once the elevator door has opened.

We walk the rest of the way to my apartment and I unlock the door.

Once we get inside my apartment, I lay down on the couch, closing my eyes and bracing my arms above my forehead.

I hear Alex’s weight fall onto the smaller armchair, and then his breath release.

After a minute goes by, I answer the unsaid question that is left hanging in the air.

“I don’t know what I remember, exactly…” I say. My voice comes out as a low whisper, but, somehow, Alexander hears me.

“What _do_ you remember?”

I open my eyes and look at him, and my gaze is met with his stare. He quickly looks off once he realizes I’ve opened my eyes.

“I…” I breathe. “Okay. I don’t remember much of earlier today. I remember you being at my house last night and going to sleep… I might remember waking up, I’m not really sure. I’m getting more of my memories near the accident—“

“It’s not an _accident_ , John. Someone fucking _hit_ you over the head. You got a _concussion_.” Alexander looks like he’s biting down on his lip, and I sit up better.

“Alright. But, I remember walking down the street… I don’t remember why I was walking, I kinda just remember this sick feeling. And… I remember Charles. I think he was the one who hit me, but that doesn’t make any sense… He was the one who found me. He called Henry.”

Alexander, who had been paying attention but looking off to his side, turns to face me.

“Charles? Is he, like, one of your teammates or something?” 

I stop my train of thought, realizing he doesn’t know who Charles is.

“He’s an old friend of mine,” I explain smoothly, “we don’t talk anymore, though. Things ended badly… my dad didn’t really like us being friends.” 

Alexander makes like he’s about to say something, and even opens his mouth and begin to say the beginning of a word, but cuts himself off. I pretend not to notice.

“After that, I just remember waking up. In a hospital bed. I… It’s…” My words flutter off as the world around me spins and blurs. My ears begin to ring, and I slowly try to lay down.

Alexander looks at me for a moment, and then stands up.

“Hey, John, you okay?” he asks, then gets the bag with the perscrptions, “Shit, I forgot which one is which…” He fumbles through the bag and reads the labels on both before chosing one.

I close my eyes then, and the ringing in my head gets loud enough that I can’t hear what Alex is doing. After a while, a plastic bottle is placed in my head.

“Can you drink like that? I don’t know, I never really can, I always end up spilling water all over me. Anyways, here.” He gives me a tablet, and I open my eyes for just long enough to take the pill.

I close my eyes again and feel the ringing start to subside, but it’s now being replaced with a slow, heavy tiredness.

I don’t know how long goes by, but, eventually, I hear Alexander sit up.

“Hey, John?” he asks, his voice light. “Are you asleep?”

I nod my head yes.

“Okay, I’m gonna swing by the dorm and make sure Lafayette hasn’t cried over his girlfriend and get some stuff. D’ya need anything?” 

I shake my head no.

“Alright, I’ll be right back in like twenty minutes, give or take five. If you think of anything you want, just shoot me a text.” I can hear him getting closer to the door, then “Bye.”

I fall back asleep, already forgetting the conversation. 

-

-

“Yes, my love, my classes were very interesting today,” Adrienne says over videochat, sitting in her bedroom in her lounge clothes. I check the clock on my phone and calculate that it would be 6:39 in Paris.

“I’m glad for that, dearest. And your English classes?” I ask her, eager to get onto the topic that could lead into me telling her about my experience in America.

“They’re doing good, as well. I’m glad I have you to practice with, you’re so very helpful.” Adrienne says, looking in the camera. I notice her avoiding the topic of my departure. She absentmindedly chews on her bottom lip, and I instantly feel guilty all over again for leaving. I don’t say anything.

Luckily, before the silence gets any worse, Alexander enters the room. He immediately finds a bag and begins shoving clothes into it.

“Hey, Laf. So, stats on John: he has a concussion, he’s doped up on meds right now, and I’m his babysitter now—well, until Tuesday. It’s a totally platonic, no-homo thing, except we may or may not kiss.” Alexander says, nonchalant, as he packs his toothbrush. Once all of his clothes are packed, he begins to pack his schoolthings.

 When he’s finished, his left arm is weighed down by three textbooks, and his bag is bulging with various notebooks. He turns to me.

“Oh! Hi, Adrienne! It’s Alexander. I gotta go. _Bonsoir_! Oh… It’s night in Paris. _Bonne nuit_!” his voice gets fainter, as he’s already out the door halfway through the sentence. I turn to Adrienne, smiling.

“He’s a… large personality, yes?” I ask her, and she returns my grin.

“Yes, yes, he’s just like you in that way,” she fiddles with her hair, “Yes, well, Gilbert, I must go eat dinner. I’ll talk to you later?” she says, not an actual question. I nod, the perfect picture of enthusiasm, and she presses the 'off' button. 

I sit in the chair, unmoving, until the laptop powered off by itself. 

_I should never have left France—Look what it’s done to Adrienne, her family likely hates me now. I should go back now, if I go back now then maybe I can—_

My thoughts are cut off by my phone ringing. I look at the caller I.D., and see Peggy’s name on the screen. I answer it.

“Bonjour.” I say.

“Bonjour, Gilby. Are you busy? I have an idea that I think you might like—the perfect American experience.”

“What is this experience?”

“I’ll tell you when you get there. Meet me at the girls’ dorm—same RC. My dorm number is A203. Okay?”

I smile.

“I’ll be there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting these chapters out is mild-highly strenuous, i have a ton of homework most days and rehearsal until 5:00, but I'll let you guys know if I'll ever be late on a chapter--I may cut out my Friday chapters until the performance of my musical, so yeah, besides that, thanks so much for reading! I hope you like it (my blood, sweat, and tears),, also I'm responding to comments, so pls comment,, I appreciate feedback sm! anyway, like always, leave kudos if you enjoyed! see you thursday!


	21. Diners, Drive In Movies, and Diving into a Friendship (no copyright intended pls)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wednesday american laf // making light

Peggy’s dorm room is abnormally… yellow, I observe.

Not an overload of yellow, like how she looked on Monday, but every subtle accent in her room was in a shade of yellow. It actually looked… nice.

I wait on her bed as she’s in her bathroom, getting ready. Eventually, she comes out—and only her top is yellow. Besides that, her skirt is denim and her boots are black.

“You ready to go?” she asks, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. I stand up from the bed and walk over to her. She’s a good head shorter than me, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed, but she holds herself with such an air that I barely notice. 

“Yup. Are you ready? You should’ve brought out the stars and the stripes,” she jokes after looking at my outfit. I stick my chin out.

“I’ll have you know that I limit my stars-and-stripes apparel to Wednesdays this year,” I say, feigning offense.

She makes sure she has her key and walks out the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” I explain, “4th of July fell on a Tuesday this year, so the next Independence Day will be on a Wednesday. It’s gonna be great—everyone’s going to say, 'Oh, that’s Lafayette, he’s patriotic on Wenesdays', and they’ll think that it’s just my quirk, but then 4th of July will come around and everyone’s going to say, 'You’re so lucky that your day synced up with it', little do they know, I’m planning this.” I say.

Peggy laughs loudly, and the sound takes up the elevator as we ride down.

“I’ll have to remember to meet up with you on Independence Day this year, then.”

-

-

“So you’re telling me that this is an actual American thing?” I ask Peggy, who’s behind the wheel of her car.

“Yup. It was more popular around the 50’s and 60’s, but a lot of people come here just for the nostalgia, you know? Plus, the food at this one’s really good.” Peggy pulls up to a booth at the beginning of what she says is a 'drive-in theater' and pays for two tickets. The attendant smiles, recognizing her and calling her by first name, which elicits a smile from Peggy. Once we have our tickets, she insists that we get food before the movie starts.

Once we get to the food stands, she closes the door and walks alongside me. 

“Usually, people go here at night, to, like, make out and stuff, but the only movie I really wanted to see played at either 2:45 or 12:30, so I chose the 2:45 showing. Plus, we still have to make it back to Angelica’s for part two of the marathon.” She bends over the glass in front of the hotdog station and orders something that I don’t understand and must be a nickname for a food or something.

“I almost forgot about that. I’ve just been thinking so much about Adrienne’s call, and then administration called me and said that there was an error in the paperwork and that I’d have to have a guardian look it over, but my aunt’s off doing missionary work in Malaysia, and I _would_ ask Jean to just call them and—“

“Jean?” Peggy cuts me off.

“Adrienne’s father. He’s basically family.” I explain, taking a moment to consider what I want to order. I end up getting nachos and a soda. “But, back to the point, I would have asked him, but Adrienne was going to call me sooner or later and I figured it would be the sooner, and so I would just talk to Jean then, but it was later, so I had to walk down to the admin building and clear that up.” I take a bite of my nachos, and continue with a halfway-stuffed mouth, “The whole time, I’m waiting for Adrienne’s call, then Henry Knox—a friend—phones me and tells me that John—you remember John, from last night, the whole repressed love thing, yes—got beat up and is in the hospital, but I can’t go visit him because I’m with the dean—Dr. Washington, I believe—plus, I’m waiting for Adrienne. So I text Alexander, and… Where was I going with this? Whatever, the point is that I’ve had a lot to do and probably would have forgotten to come to the marathon if it weren’t for this,” I breathe out, “I needed this, _mon dieu_.”

Peggy laughs and pats me on the shoulder.

“Don’t stress it, there’s no way you would’ve _actually_ forgotten it. We would have reminded you endlessly,” Peggy says, and it’s my turn to laugh. I take a drink of my soda, which I think is Coke, and swallow it quickly.

“Yes, you’re right. I didn’t consider that part,” I laugh.

She digs through her bag to find her keys and opens the door to her car, which I just now stop to look at. It’s an expensive Mercedes, and I can’t see a 17-year-old getting one, unless her parents give her anything she wants. I decide to ask her about it.

“Did your father buy you this car?” I ask her, and she gets settled into the car, looking around the inside of the car.

“Yeah, I know it seems pretty extra, but my dad’s _terrified_ of me getting into an accident, so he insisted that, the moment I got my permit, I’d get the best car with the most safety features available,” she says, her tone almost making a joke out of his caution.

“Why is he so cautious?” I ask, genuinely curious. She takes a sip of her drink and turns to me.

“3 of my brothers died in a car crash a while back, one of them was only a baby, and the oldest one was the one driving. My dad’s been pretty shaken afterwards, and it’s like my mother couldn’t function with such an empty nest—there’s only four of us now, and, at the time, Angelica was in her first year of college, and she didn’t stay at home, and my other brother, Phillip, was in the car but didn’t die…” she breathes out deeply, then ends with, “So, he’s really big on safety.”

I place my hand on hers.

“At least you got a great car?” I suggest, hoping to decrease the heavy air in the car. 

She turns around to me, her eyes watering but not crying, and starts to fall into a laugh that sounds too much like a cry.

“Oh, my God, you’re a jerk!” she says in between laughs and breaths, and I move back, ready to have to walk back to the dorm because I did something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ I stutter.

“No,” she interrupts me, taking a steadying breath, “No, I appreciated that. Sometimes you have to make light of things to survive, you know?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i'm sleep deprived and running on one meal a day. i see sounds. i think in study guides and my choreo for the musical i'm in. it's day 5. i'm not going to last long. 
> 
> -JK I'LL BE FINE!! I'm getting to sleep early today so I won't be too tired tomorrow because I have to do makeup in the morning for a dress rehearsal later, so, this is not the longest, 
> 
> -but please actually comment what you want to see happen in the fanfic. I have a few things that will 4sure happen, but I want reader feedback! i want to know what you guys like! 
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #1: ily all and don't forget that you don't live in a time during which your letters to your gay lover aren't censored by your son (google it, it happened to alex and john)


	22. Peggy, Lafayette, John, and Alex Being Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleepy john //joint deal // charles aka delilah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the french translations are easy enough?)

“How did you get into my apartment?” a dazed yet groggy voice exclaims from the couch halfheartedly once I unlock the door to John’s apartment. I chuckle, setting down his keys that I swiped before leaving.

“I stole your keys, I didn’t want to wake you.” I say. John, who had been sitting upright while simultaneously looking as if he was about to fall, lays back down onto the couch and groans.

“I got food, if you want it. It’s Chinese, I don’t know if you’ll really like it but I didn’t know what else to get—well, no, there were other options, but I just chose to get Chinese. I guess I didn’t consider if you’d want it—if you’d like, I could get you something else… Mexican? Maybe Burger King? I think there’s one on campus, I’m pretty sure I saw someone walking around with a bag of it… I’d have to find it, of course, but, if you want it, I’ll get it…”

“I’m not awake enough to cut you off, but you’re talking yourself into a hole,” John says once I disappear into incoherent rambling, “It’s fine. Chinese’s fine. Just set it down over there, I’ll eat it right now.”

I do as he says, placing the food onto the coffee table right in front of him, opening the plastic lid on top of the container.

“So, it’s kung pao and teriyaki with fried rice. I usually just get orange chicken, but I know a lot of people who don’t seem to like it, and so I got the other two things that looked the best. So, yeah.” I find a plastic fork and give it to him. He takes it in his hands, about to scoop food into his mouth, when he just lets it go and falls back asleep on the couch.

I laugh at him to myself for a good amount of time before deciding to pick up the food from the table and reseal it in the container.

I sit in the armchair I was in previously and open my Econ textbook, I might as well get some reading done.

-

-

“They just talked so… fast,” I comment after the movie as Peggy begins to pull off of the lot. She laughs and turns to me before quickly turning back to the road.

“Yeah, I guess they did. I’ve never thought much about how fast us English speakers must seem to be speaking. I learned French in an immersion program, so that was never a problem for me, but…” She trails off, focusing on driving.

The car is quiet for a few miles.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask, breaking the silence. She nods. “Are you—you and your sisters—are you all adopted?”

She laughs, but then takes a small breath in.

“Angelica’s not. She was born before all of us, and she’d only had an older brother—he was the one driving during the crash,” she blinks slowly, as if to clear her mind, and then continues, “When our mom was pregnant with her, she got really sick. Cancer. Angelica barely made it, and the doctors thought that Mom wouldn’t be able to survive the birth, let alone ever have kids again…” Peggy stops talking, and I almost think that she’s done, but she keeps on talking. “A few years later, they adopted Eliza and I. Funny story, actually—they only wanted Eliza at first because they said they wanted a kid and not a toddler, and Eliza was 5 and I was 3, so they never considered me. But then they saw how attached Eliza and I were—she’s been my big sister from the start, I guess—and knew that they wanted us both.” At this point, tears are falling down her face, and I can’t help but feel helpless. I don’t know how to comfort her, I’m bad enough at comforting Adrienne, and we’ve been together forever.

The car rolls to a steady stop at a red light, and Peggy releases the wheel, wiping away her tears.

“ _Eh bien, c’est la vie, et asi es la vida._ ” Peggy mutters. I only understand the first half.

“Both _le fran_ _çais_ _et le espanol_ , impressive,” I observe. Peggy smiles, shaking her head.

“I don’t speak Spanish. My father never taught me, it’s just… something my mother used to say whenever I’d ask her about things I didn’t understand.”  The mood in the car turns somber.

“Is your mother… Has she passed?” I tread lightly, hoping with all of me that she’s not.

“No,” she says, half-laugh and half-mutter as the light turns green and she begins to drive again, “No, she actually was given the 'all-clear' a few years after Eliza and I were adopted—they said that all traces of the cancer had disappeared, but that she’d likely never had kids again. But, lo and behold, she had two more.” 

I smile largely, “Your mother is _une merveille,_ Peggy.” 

She smiles to herself.

“ _Oui, je sais_.”

-

-

About an hour into my personal study session, I hear an annoyed grunt from the couch. It’s followed by another one, and then the rustling of the blanket I’d placed over John.

“Alexander,” he mutters, facing the inside of the couch.

“Yeah?” I answer, not looking up from my textbook.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice clearly groggy.

I check my watch, realizing I hadn’t checked the time, either.

“5:37. Want food or something?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead he sits up, and I see his hair is beyond a bedhead. Besides that, he looks like he just discovered the cure to the bubonic plague. 

_Is there a cure for the bubonic plague? I need to Google that, ASAP._

“Charles was the one who hit me.” He says, seemingly fully awake now. That elicits a response from me, and I look up from my book, raising my eyebrows.

“Are you—Do you remember now?” 

“Yeah. I remember everything. You fell asleep here at my house last night, and you woke up before me, and I heard you get up and that woke me up, and you said you had to be back at the dorms because your old roommate was taking y’all out to breakfast, and I said okay, and then you left and I went back to sleep. When I woke up, I talked to my dad and he—“ he abruptly stops talking, then resumes, “After that, I went for a walk and I bumped into Charles—literally—and, we got into a fight. I _thought_ I was winning, but then, next thing I knew, he’s got a pipe to my head. Then I woke up in the hospital.” 

I can feel my blood pressure rise by a million.

“Who’s this Charles guy—what’s his last name?” I get up from my chair and go into John’s room, where I’d plugged in my phone, and then go back to the living room. “D’you know if I’m supposed to call 911 for this sorta thing, or do I call the police department?” I pause, thinking. “He’d get charged for assault, definitely, but what about—“

“Alexander,” John says from the couch, and I realize he’s been speaking.

“Sorry,” I sit back down, “What did you say?”

“I _said_ I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.” John stands up and goes to get food, and I’m left sitting there, dumbfounded.

“You’re not gonna press charges? Is that what you mean? Because you definitely have to press charges. What about your hospital bills?” I insist as he comes back into the room and sits.

“My insurance’s got it all covered, so it’s no problem, it’s just,” he drinks from a glass of water, “My dad knows people around here. Even if I press charges and try to keep it on the down low, he’ll find out.”

“I’m confused. So what, your dad finds out?”

John sighs.

“Charles knows my dad—more like my dad knows Charles. It’s complicated. I just, I don’t want him to find out that Charles is even here.” 

“Here as in…?”

“New York. He thinks that he’s still back in South Carolina, and I want to keep it that way.”

Now I’m starting to get suspicious.

“Why?” I ask him.

“ _Because,_ ” he says, with a bite, but then backs off a bit, “Because…” He looks down and fidgets with the T.V remote.

“Yes?” I press him, and he seems to give up his resolve.

“Because, I used to like him—Charles. And not in a _best friend_ way. We had been friends since freshman year of high school, when he came here from England. I’d liked him since the last semester of senior year. When he found out over the summer, he said that he liked me too, and we became a thing, sort of. It didn’t last long, though. My dad found out a few weeks in and I managed to convince him that he was the one who led me on, and now my dad lives blissfully and sleeps well at night, knowing that his son doesn’t actually like boys, but instead was seduced by some Delilah, but prayed the gay away.” John spits, his voice cynical and… hurt.

I instantly feel bad for pushing him, and sit down next to him on the couch. He’s looking straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge that I’m here.

“I’m sorry for pushing you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

He doesn’t respond. 

For once, I don’t try to elicit conversation where it’s neither wanted nor needed. Instead, I lean my head onto his shoulder. He leans back into me in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -hey guys, if you haven't inferred already, I'm gonna have to stop Friday updates until the end of my show! i'm sorry, but it's just really hard for me to get out 4 chapters a week, so I'm going down to three
> 
> -i'm really sick but we have testing at my school and rehearsals all week long so I guess I'm gonna have to go anyway
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #2: ily all and remember that, if you need a reason to live, find a person that you hate dearly and make it your goal to outlive them so you can dance on their grave.


	23. Would That Be Enough?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> birds' knees // the last stand // stay alive

At around 12 A.M, I’m laying down in John’s bed while he’s presumably asleep. My assumptions are proven wrong when I hear John move, and then,

“Alexander?” 

“Yeah?” I answer him, facing outwards while he’s turned to face my back.

“Alexander, turn around, this is a super important question.” John says, whispering for some reason. I do as he says, and see that his eyes are fully open.

“Do birds have knees?” he asks, and it’s all I have to not burst out into a fit of laughter.

“John, did you take more of your meds before you went to bed?” I ask him, to which he nods. I chuckle. “The bottle says not to take it if you’ll be sleeping in the surrounding 4 hours. You are so doped up.” 

“Not an answer.” He insists, and I laugh again.

“Actually,” I begin, “I wrote an essay on this. In most species of birds, the knees are internal. You know, our knees aren’t covered by anything, but their knees are within that, like, whole mass of feathers and fat that’s basically their whole body, so you can’t see them. You’d think that those joints that you can actually _see_ in their legs are their knees, but they’re not, they don’t even bend the same way, so they’re actually their ankles. Shit’s weird, yeah?”

John just blinks.

“Yeah, _I’m_ the doped-up one. Why do you even know all of that stuff?” John asks, laughing in that breathy way that happens during the night.

“I’m a bird enthusiast, thank you. At least, I was when I was, like, 14-ish. It’s one of those weird information-fetishes that you get from ages 11-19.” 

“A phase?” John suggests.

“Blanked on the word.” I susbside.

“Mhmmm.” He murmurs, and turns back around. I do the same, shutting my eyes slowly.

-

-

Halfway into _The Last Stand_ , my phone goes off from on the floor on the other side of Maria. I only hear it because the scene got so quiet that everyone has no choice but to listen closely.

“Who is it?” I whisper in her ear, so as to not distract everyone. I look around quickly to see that Angelica, who is sitting in a beanbag chair I assume she’s dragged up from nowhere, Peggy, and Lafayette, who are sitting next to each other under a blanket on a couch, haven’t noticed my phone going off.

“No idea. It’s an area code from the city.” Maria whispers back to me after observing the screen. I furrow my brow. I don’t know anyone who I wouldn’t have saved that’s calling from the city. I put my hand out in request for my phone, which she hands over to me. 

I quickly step out of the fort and into Angelicas room, where I answer the phone call.

“Eliza?” a female voice says with an emotion that I can’t place very well.

“Yes, that’s me,” I respond, treading lightly.

“It’s Mary, John’s mother. I—“ her voice increases in pitch and she stops speaking for a while, only to continue, “John’s in the hospital. The one on Mercer? They say he was out with some friends, and they said he was coughing a lot—more than usual—and then he said that he couldn’t breathe. They called 911, and they brought him here. I don’t think he can—I don’t…” her voice trails into a fit of sobs, and I hear someone else shushing her comfortingly. 

**(AN: NOT JOHN LAURENS, THIS IS JOHN JAY, ELIZA’S BOYFRIEND)**

_John,_ I think _, he’s not going to make it. That’s what she’s trying to say. She’s going to lose her son because I didn’t tell someone that he was sick earlier. He’s going to be gone forever, and now there’s nothing I can do about it because I’ve already missed my window of oppurtuntity, and now I’m going to pay for it._

“Can you come? He says that he wants to see you.” His mom says after she’s calmed a little more. 

I snap out of my shock-induced reverie and quickly answer yes, then say goodbye. 

“Maria,” I half-whisper, opening the door. When she doesn’t move, I repeat myself, causing her to turn around, confused. I motion for her to come towards me, and she does.

“What’s up? Who was it?” she asks. 

“Mary… John’s mom. She said,” I pause, blinking back tears, “he’s in the hospital, Maria. I think I was right, he did have pneumonia, and I didn’t tell anyone!” My voice nears a yell, and tears escape from my eyes. “They don’t think he can make it. I should’ve told someone—anyone. I know him, I knew that he was sick, I should’ve known to tell someone, but I _told myself_ that it couldn’t be pneumonia because the doctors said that if it hit him again tha—tha—“

Maria silences me by wrapping her arms around my waist and drawing me into a tight hug. More tears are streaming down my face now, and I can’t help but place all of the blame on _me_.

I need to see John. I need to see him.

“Do you want to go?” Maria asks me, not pulling away yet. I nod through tears, and she nods comittally, then goes to get her keys and phone, offering some halfhearted excuse to Peggy and Angelica.

“Ready?” she asks me finally.

I nod, unable to say much more.

“Okay, let’s go,”

-

-

The lights in the hospital somehow manage to make me sick to my stomach. I can’t help but think of all of the heartbroken friends and family that sit in the too-bright lamps of the waiting rooms, waiting for more than a perscription, waiting for the news that their friend, their husband, their _son,_ has died.

“Liz,” Maria calls me, and I realize that I’ve been staring into the light.

“Yeah,” I murmur, only barely looking towards her.

“Come on, the receptionist says he’s in 394.” Maria figures that I won’t walk, so she takes my hand in hers and leads me in the right direction.

“He’ll be okay,” Maria tries, and I make a bleating noise.

“You don’t know that. _I_ don’t know that. Maria,” I stop looking ahead and turn to her, still walking, “people have _died_ from this kind of thing. I just—I _want_ him to be okay, I really do…”

Maria squeezes my hand, and soon we’re at his door.

I knock first, releasing her hand, and, when someone responds, I open it.

The lighting in this room is worse.

It’s not actually _bad_ , but it makes everything feel downcast and somber and _wrong_ , and the room smells too sterile. It’s like they’re trying to substitute his health for artificial cleanliness.

His mother is the first person I notice. I recognize her from the pictures he keeps around his dorm and from the week I spent with his family over Thanksgiving break during freshman year. She looks like a carbon copy of John, except with lighter hair and eyes that are much more tired. She’s sitting in a chair by his side, holding a cup of coffee that looks untouched, and gazing absentmindedly at her son, who lays in a bed with various IV’s attached to his arms.

“He’s awake,” she says, after some silence, “Just tired. The doctors are saying for him not to go to sleep right now, but he’s still feeling the effects of the drugs that were supposed to help him breathe better. The drowsiness is just about the only effect that they’re having.”

Maria stays back, choosing to sit down at one of the chairs nearer to the door, but I walk up to John, taking his hand in mine.

“John,” I whisper, “I’m sorry, John. I love you. You’re strong, okay? I know it. I know you.”

More silence passes.

“The doctors say that he doesn’t look good. Said that the pneumonia wasn’t actually that aggrivated, but his sacroidosis causes it to be worse,” she sighs heavily, and turns her eyes to me. They’re filled with such hurt, tiredness, and… an inexplicable emptiness accompanied with diluted passion that I avert mine away. “Has he been sick for very long?”

I shake my head.

“No. A week, maybe. He insisted that it was just a cold, but I still gave him medicine and I brought him dinner every night, mainly to check up on him, I guess. He didn’t seem that bad, but,” I shake my head again, “It just didn’t feel right. I should’ve told you.”

She stands up, and we’re face to face, and she pulls me into a hug.

“No, honey, this isn’t your fault,” she insists, “The doctors could barely even detect it. It’s in an early stage, they said that it could have been mistaken for a cold. The best thing we can do right now is hope.”

That seemed like just about the hardest thing to do right now, but I can do it. For John. For me. 

-

-

Later in the night, John’s mother slips away to get dinner from the cafeteria, and I refuse her offer to join, because I don’t want to leave John. As well as that, I can’t think of eating a thing, I’ve completely lost my apetite.

I scoot my chair closer to his bed, and intertwine our fingers together, resting  them on my cheek.

“Stay alive,” I whisper, “That would be enough.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i'm sick still and I'm testing still and i still have rehearsals 
> 
> -friday updates are still off I don't want to tire myself :(
> 
> -sorry for the cliffhanger?? everything gets tied up real nicely in the next chapter
> 
> -sorry to give eliza the line she told alexander,, but,, eliza x alexander's not a thing and it was a perfect opportunity, sooo 
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #3: ily all and remember that some dogs don't grow past the size of a pup. they're perpetually small and cute. live for that.


	24. Eliza Doesn't Care (She Does)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic/anxiety attack,, death
> 
> i don't know how to summarize this chapter. read for yourself.

I hear a low noise, and look to see that John is looking at me.

“Eliza,” he murmurs.

“Yes?” I answer, not taking my eyes off of him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but his sentence is cut off before it can even start by a sharp breath. 

“John?” I say, concerned. 

The first breath is followed by more of the same sharp, wheezing breaths. Maria stand from her chair, clearly alarmed, and rushes out of the room.

Tears begin to cloud my eyes, and I can’t do anything but listen to Maria call out for a doctor and John’s labored breaths. They stop coming in so rapidly, and instead slow down to too slow to be normal.

“Jay,” I say, and when he doesn’t respond, “Jay. John. Come on, John. Please, please, John…” The rest of my sentence is incoherent mumbling, and I hear doctors rush in the room, but pay no attention to them, even as they tell me I have to leave. I stay by his side, clutching his arm, not wanting to let go. I can’t let go. He’s still alive. There’s still hope.

“Ma’am, please, we need you to exit the room,” says a female nurse, rushing past me. Someone else grabs my hand and takes me out of the room, and I’m still shouting John’s name as the door shuts, and I’m left in the hallway. I look to my side and see that Maria was the one who brought me out.

She doesn’t say anything to me as I let out a scream that pierces the air around me. 

“Eliza,” she says, after I’ve finished, her voice light and wary.

“He’s—“

“You don’t know that,” Maria interrupts, and I turn to her again.

“What do you mean, I don’t know? I want him to be alive! Of course I do! But—Maria—he _can’t_ survive this, what if it’s sepsis, there’s no way he’ll be able to survive it if it’s sepsis…” I can feel my face heating up and the air around me disappearing, and I take larger and larger breaths, only to still not feel satisifed with the amount of breath in my lungs and I’m gasping and reaching for something to hold on to, something to breathe in instead of just nothingness, and the world begins to spin and pulsate around me, matching my own heartbeat until it’s the only thing I can hear, the only thing that floods my ears, the only thing I can concentrate on—

“Eliza,” Maria calls out to me, and it feels like I’m a million miles away. I only realize that I’m on the floor once she sits down next to me, and I feel her arm around my back.

“Shhh, Eliza, Eliza, you’re hyperventilating. Calm down, breathe in,” she begins, and even when I don’t follow her, continues with, “Breathe out.”

“Is she okay?” another voice that sounds even farther away asks. I recognize it as the doctor. Maria doesn’t answer, and, when there’s no conversation for a few moments, I lift my head and open my eyes, the world shifting around me. I take a breath in and fight the nausea that’s pushing at the back of my throat.

“John,” I manage, and the doctor’s face turns more somber than it was before.

“Is his mother here?” he responds, and I immediately know the answer.

“She’s downstairs,” Maria responds before I do. The doctor nods.

“I usually like to do this when the parents are present.” 

I can’t help but break down into a cathartic storm of tears and broken noises at his words. What more conformation could there be?

The elevator dings, and John’s mother walks out, looking tired, but clearly not aware of this situation. It takes her a few steps from the elevator to the door of the room to survey the situation. She stops a few feet away from where I am on the floor.

“No,” Is all she says, her empty coffee cup falling to the floor. No tears fall from her eyes, but she shakes her head fervently, “No, no, no—“ her voice catches again, and she begins to cry huge, ugly tears that escape from her eyes in rivers and streams.

“It was a combination of sepsis, and the scardiosis. I’m very sorry, ma’am.” The doctor says.

It’s quiet.

“He’s dead,” I mean to say to myself, but it comes out of my mouth, and the doctor turns to me, looking me up and down with a sickening sort of pity.

“My condolences, ma’am, if you’d like, this hospital is partnered with a wonderful psychological help—“

“I don’t _care_ about therapy, I care about John!” I yell, getting on my feet and walking to the doctor. He steps back, putting his arms out.

“I’ll leave you both, there’s paperwork to be signed when you’re ready, Mrs. Jay. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” He disappears down a hallway, and I sit back down on the floor, putting my head in between my legs, not caring about anything else but John.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i've had a really bad, sad day today (great words, self, c'mon, you're a writer), so that's why this chapter has such a heavy mood to it (besides the fact that someone dies in it)
> 
> -i was going to add another part to this chapter because it's only 850 words, but, alas, this was too loaded to have anything immediately following it. i know we didn't get to know jay very well, but, nevertheless, it's sad.
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this chapter (and this fic in general) so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #4: you're not dead. it sucks to be dead. no one really knows what it's like. it's unknown, you have no idea what awaits you. whether that be an afterlife or endless nothing, how lucky we are to be alive right now. i think i needed that just as much as (if not more than) anybody who's reading that.
> 
> -ik i'm cheesy but thank you so much for supporting me. i don't have the heart to be super funny, given the day's events, but i hope you all are doing amazing. ily all.


	25. HamilSquad and the No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (thanks @500daysofvictoria for the feedback and the chapter name inspo)
> 
> breaking the news // moments that the words don't reach

I manage to get Eliza to the dining hall on Sunday. After we got home late last night, technically what constitutes as last night, she just sat in her bed. Not laid down, sat. Until the sun rose, when she got up to take a shower. She still hadn’t put on clothes until I eventually coarsed her out of the dorm.

Now she’s sitting in front of me, her hair still wet and matted, and dressed in a random shirt and pair of pajama pants that she pulled from her drawer, staring blankly at the plate of fruit I got her.

“Are you going to eat?” I ask her, not yet eating my food. She doesn’t say anything, just stares blankly at a singular piece of watermelon.

“Do you want something to drink? Water? Juice? Coffee?” I suggest.

“I think I’m going to get some tea,” she says simply, voice low, and goes off to get some.

While she’s gone, I begin to eat my own food.

She’s back within a matter of 5 minutes, holding one of the dining hall’s ceramic mugs full of tea in both of her hands and letting the steam blow onto her face, which turns the tip of her nose a light pink.

It takes her even longer to actually take a sip of it, and, after she does, she simply places it back on the table, and begins to again stare blankly into the surface of the mug.

“Do you want to call Angelica today? Have you told her yet, or Peggy?” I ask, even though I know the answer. Her phone ran out of battery at the hospital, and, when she got back to the dorm, she left it on my desk, where it still sits, untouched.

She shakes her head no, which I assume is an answer to both questions.

I leave the conversation at that, and, with a sip of my orang juice, continue eating.

After 10 minutes or so, I see John Laurens out of my peripheral view. I’ve talked to him only a little bit, mostly in the few classes we’d had together last year, and in the times he’d hang out with Eliza in the dorms. He’s walking someone who I can only assume is the Alexander who called Lafayette, crying, two nights ago, but is now smiling happily, and talking on and on about something to which Laurens looks completely immersed into. That is, until, he spots Eliza. He waves at me, walking toward us with Alexander from behind Eliza.

“Maria,” he says, smiling, “Eliza. How are y’all? I feel like we haven’t actually talked in ages—“ his voice cuts off when he notices Eliza’s… temprament, but he tries to hide it.

“Eliza, what’s wrong?” he asks, and Eliza snaps out of her reverie to look at him, and actually opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something, but her eyes gloss over, and she hangs her head again, breaking eye contact with Laurens, who looks between the two of us, confused and concerned.

“You can tell him. They were friends,” Eliza says to me, so quiet that maybe even Alexander couldn’t hear. I look at her to make sure she’s sure, and then turn back to the two.

“Alexander, it’s nice to see the face behind the phone call,” I say. Personally, I prefer to inform someone of a death once we’re on a first-name, can-match-a-name-to-a-face basis.

“Ha, well,” he laughs, and there’s a dead silence.

“Just tell him,” Eliza says from her seat. I look at her again, not sure if I can just out and say it. When I don’t seem convinced that I should, she balls her hands into fists.

“Jo—Laurens, I’m just going to tell you this because you two were friends and you deserve to know,” Eliza says, looking up at a very confused and mildly concerned John and drawing in a shaky breath, “John—Jay died last night. I was at the hospital with him because he couldn’t breathe and then they said the pneumonia got so bad that—that—“ Eliza buries her face into her hands, and I move to the seat directly next to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulder as she leans into me and disappears into a muffled fit of sobs.

I hear John’s and Alex’s footsteps shuffle away without looking up at them.

-

-

“Heavy,” Alex says after we’ve left the dining hall, the first words that have passed between us since Eliza told us the news. He shoves his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” I respond, purposefully playing down some of the emotion. I knew Jay in passing, we were both on the football team last year but we never really hung out with each other. Still, though, when you play with a group of people for so long and a member dies, it stings. “Jay was a cool guy. I feel really bad for Eliza, she’s heartbroken. Jay was, like, her life.”

“I don’t know, she seems pretty independent,” Alexander comments, and I take a moment to think. He’s right.

“Yeah, you’re right. I just meant that they were together a lot. They’ve been a thing since high school, If I’m remembering it right. I’ll stop by her dorm once she’s out of this.” Some silence passes by, but Alexander breaks it with a question it seems like he’s been wanting to ask since the silence began.

“Out of what?”

I didn’t even realize I’d phrased my words like that.

“When bad things happen to Eliza, she kinda shuts down and goes into autopilot. I’ve known her for a while, we were family friends growing up because our dads were in the same political circles, so when I’d come to New York as a kid, we’d stay in her guest house. But anyway, her brothers got into a really bad car accident a while back and two of them didn’t make it. She didn’t get out of bed for two months, her mom had to pull her out of school and homeschool her. She was convinced that it was her older brothers fault for driving so recklessly. She didn’t speak at his funeral, too—just sat down throughout the church service and walked home when it was over.”

Alexander doesn’t respond, just hangs his head lower, and I can tell he’s thinking of something that he won’t say.

“I don’t think it’s her fault, there’s just moments that the words don’t reach, you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -tech week: HELL WEEK starts tomorrow (Monday) so that's going to be eventful, I hope I can balance these chapters with homework and rehearsal until 8
> 
> -feedback would be greatly appreciated because I don't really know what I want the next chapter to be about to i'd love it if you commented ideas, etc. ! :))
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #3: ily all and remember that lin manuel miranda jumps when he's excited. if that didn't brighten your day, you're not human. 
> 
> \- (P.S. not all the chapters are going to be this heavy. the other ones should be lighter)


	26. Hammy is Not Throwing Away His Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> non-so-petit-amis // rise up

“Adrienne,” I say into the camera, watching as she looks back at me, “it’s been so fun to experience the American culture. It’s lovely. Honestly.”

Adrienne smiles, her eyes crinkling a little in the corner.

“I’m so happy for you, Gilbert. I do wish I could’ve stayed longer when I came initially, but I booked a flight back so quickly so tha—ah, I think… I think it’s time for lunch,” Adrienne says, distracted and clearly hiding something.

“Adrienne, your courses are on a computer screen. You can eat lunch whenever you’d please,” I say, and she seems admittedly guilty.

“I know, Gilbert, it’s just that my mother said that I’m getting off track with my meals. You know I need to keep to a very strict schedule if I want to stay healthy. I’ve gotten into the bad habit of missing déjeuner, so I need to keep up to that,” Adrienne makes eye contact with me for a second through the screen, and then looks away to some distant point on her right, “I love you, GIlbert. I’ll talk to you the next chance I get?”

I nod distantly, and she offers a saccharine smile, reaching forward and pressing the 'end' button. I watch as her video chat window disappears from my screen.

-

-

“No, I swear to God, I took it out of the class. No joke, I remember picking it up, getting ready to leave,” I insist while John laughs at me. The bright moonlight bounces off of his cheekbones, and I turn away from him a little bit.

“Oh yeah? Then how did it end up spending the night in Dean Washington’s classroom?” he teases me, and I have to turn back to him so I can shoot him the sweetest glare I can, before actually pondering on the thought.

“Well, yeah, I _did_ have it in my hands when I was getting ready to leave. But then Washington finished one last point, and I wanted to talk to him about it…” I stop walking for a moment, snapping my fingers in realization, “Ah. I left it on my desk when I went to go talk with him.”

“Lucky for you, you figured that out _before_ we got into his classroom, so that you don’t have to wander around the room, looking like the typical freshman who lost their thousand-dollar laptop on their first Saturday class.”

“Fuck off,” I say, opening the door to the Government and Econ building with my student I.D. John clicks his tongue, a sound that is oddly pleasing to me.

“Better not let Washington hear you using such foul language, mister,” drawls Laurens, pretending that the accent he’s dialing up is completely for comedic effect. It’s obvious that he already has an accent that he’s chosing to emphasize.

“What a Southern stickler for the rules,” I say, looking up at him. It takes him a bit, but he looks back down at me. We both slow to a stop, aware that we’ve reached Washington’s classroom but unwilling to look anywhere else than at each other.

I figure John’s not gonna take any huge strides after the other night, so I move up closer to him, bringing our mouths together in a quick but heavy kiss.

 

Eventually, Alexander breaks away at the sound of footsteps from inside the classroom. Just from the one quick glance at his lips that I manage, it’s obvious that he’s just kissed someone, and the evidence would point to me, standing there half-stunned. I know he can tell, too, but makes no attempt to hide anything.

“I’ll continue later?” Alexander asks, not exactly a question, because he knows that I’ll say yes. He knows that I’ll end up giving in, betraying my own self-control.

God, I want to turn around and run back home. 

_What if the security cameras saw us?_

_What if someone who watches the tapes is friends with my dad and finds it a little odd that their friend’s straight son was locking lips with some (admittedly attractive) guy in plain sight?_

I think I also might be sick.

The door to Washington’s classroom opens, and no one other than the dean of the school, George Washington, steps out, diminishing all hope I had of fleeing the scene before things got too bad. He looks exhausted.

“If you’re here to ask about MLA format for the essay, it’s 12-point Times New Roman, double spaced—“ Alexander cuts him off before he can continue.

“No, sir, uh, I’m in your sophomore Political Science course—advanced—but, I think I left my laptop in here during yesterday’s class.” Alexander smiles, turning up his charm that he already so clearly has.

“Oh, my apologies,” Washington says, smiling back. That’s the thing that I don’t think a lot of people realize—Alexander’s smile is fucking contagious. When he smiles, you can’t help but return it. “Feel free to look around, I don’t really look much at the seats, and I’ve told the custodians to refrain from coming in here, so if you left it, it should be in here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alexander says, ducking his head down a bit and walking inside. I expect Washington to follow, so that I can walk in behind the two of them, but he lingers in the doorway, examining me.

“Yes, sir?” I ask after some time of awkward silence.

“John Laurens, are you? I’ve heard of your father. I’m glad to see you’re making a name for yourself, though,” Washington comments.

What? Okay?

“Thank you, sir.” I respond with all the proper politeness, and he nods for a second, as if in consideration, and then walks back into the classroom. I follow after him and see that Alexander has found his laptop and is standing by Washington’s desk, laptop in his hand.

“I apologize for such a mess. I have so many more classes this year because a lot of professors have decided to switch departments or schools altogether,” says Washington, exasperated as he sits down at his desk. “You know, I’ve heard from Professor Greene that you’re his best student so far. You even corresponded with him over the summer to get the syllabus early?”

Hamilton’s face is red with a mixture of pride and embarassment.

“Yes, sir,” he responds. Washington looks pleased.

“I heard that he tried to get you to be his T.A in his freshman class, but you declined the offer. Why is that?” He flips through papers, still looking up at Alex, who looks embarassed (again).

“Uh, well, you see, sir, I’d prefer, personally, to work in the administrative building. I heard that many students are hired there, and it’s always been clear to me that it would help me work up to whichever career I want to be in,” he says, then once he realizes Washington is probably his best shot at getting a job there, “I ran a business back in my hometown in Nevis. Well, I didn’t run it, but I handled all of the shipments going in and out. The owners weren’t around, so I ran the office and did mostly all of the paperwork, and—“

Washington cuts him off curtly.

“In my humble opinion, I see being a T.A as an excellent building block to working down at the admin building. I’d have to test the water with you, I usually don’t have first-years be my T.A, I usually don’t have T.A.’S at all, but I know that you’re at a very advanced level and I can tell you’re a bright student. You can handle it. And I really need the extra help,” Washington takes his glasses off and leads toward Alexander. “Would you like the position? It would be for a freshman class, obviously one that you’re way ahead of. I can email you the schedule if you’ll accept.”

Hamilton considers for a while, then, “Okay, sir. I’d like that very much.”

Washington smiles.

“Good. Work starts Tuesday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -yay, I got out a chapter on time during hell week! (well, super late, but you get the point!)
> 
> -updates will be much earlier starting sunday/monday-ish, so be excited about that!
> 
> -it's my dad's birthday!
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #5: ily all and remember that at least you're not starting your history essay the day it's due (like I am)
> 
> ~ana :)


	27. More Angst, Ad Nauseam Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insert a decent summary for the first half of a really deep insightful chapter here?

“I haven’t see Alexander for a week after he became Washington’s T.A. Well, barely. He spent the night at my house Sunday and Monday night, but since then he just _hasn’t_ been around, and now it’s Saturday. No texts—well, he did text me after he left my house Tuesday morning, checking up on me, but, besides that—“ I say into the phone, laying down on one of the couches in my living room and absentmindedly eating some fries that I bought. 

Lafayette waits to respond, as if he’s thinking.

“You know, now that I think of it, I haven’t seen much of Alex lately, either. I stick to a strict bedtime so that I don’t get bags under my eyes, so I’m usually in bed by eleven thirty, so he must come home after that and leave before I wake up. That’s so weir—Alexander!” exclaims Lafayette, and I hear ruffling on the phone, and then Alex’s voice.

“Who are you gossiping about me to?” he asks Lafayette.

“No one, only John. He’s concerned, you haven’t showed up in his bed in a week.” Lafayette says passively, yet still manages to coat his words with the type of sass only he can muster.

“Laf,” I half-complain, half-whine.

I hear rustling in the background, then a loud thud, and mattress springs squeaking.

“Do you think you’d be up for John stopping by?” Lafayette whispers (for some reason).

I hear incoherent mumbling and then a response in French from Alexander.

“ _Oui_ , then. Let’s go.” Lafayette says finally. “John, we will be at your humble abode soon.”

I’m thrown off.

“We?” I repeat after him, and hear a laugh.

“No, I won’t be staying. I have other things to do. I just don’t just Alexander to not fall asleep and get mugged on the subway.”

“Oh, okay.”

Lafayette hangs up.

 

Some time later, there’s a ring at the buzzer. I buzz them up, not bothering to ask who it is, because I already know. Once I open my door, I’m suprised to see only Alexander standing before me, clutching a canvas bag.

“No Lafayette?” I observe as he walks past me, collapsing onto the couch. He makes a halfassed noise that maybe means no. I shrug, sitting down next to him. His eyes can barely stay open.

“Did you work yourself halfway to death’s doorstep or something?” I ask him with a laugh, turning on the T.V—half unsure of what else to do.

He groans and sits up, brushing the hair out of his face and focusing on whichever show I put on the T.V.

“I guess so,” he admits, “I didn’t think it would be that much. Just grading some papers for a class and helping out whenever I could. But it fits almost too perfectly into my schedule. Every time I get a chance to breathe, I look at my phone and see I need to be back at Washington’s in a half hour. Not to mention the fact that the adminstrative office is now questioning whether or not I should actually take sophomore classes, so I’ve had to argue with them and explain how, if I were to take a first year class, I would know _all_ of the shit well enough to teach the course myself. Its just—“ he cuts himself off with a groan, which then cuts to silence once he begins to actually watch the show.

After it’s gone to and from commercials about 3 times, Alexander turns to me on the couch, his legs tucked under his body, and sits up straight.

“I don’t remember much of a lot in the past week—what irony—but, if I do recall correctly, I promised to take you-slash-myself up on my earlier offer.” Alexander purrs like a feral tomcat.

I wish I could say that I’d forgotten about Sunday. I wish I could say that I didn’t remember the way I nearly melted into his touch and the feelings I felt and what I thought about doing.

I manage to pull off an expression poorly-done faux confusion, to which Alexander smiles, nonverbally calling me on my shit.

He moves closer to me, and I barely notice the fact that I’m also moving closer to him—albeit at a slower rate than he is.

Right before the space between us is so small that it’s physically impossible for our bodies to connect, Alexander’s eyes, previously glazed over with anticipation, become clear.

“May I?” he asks, and I’m bewildered at the small courtesy. I nod without giving my brain time to convince myself that this is a bad idea, and he leans in, pulling me into a gentle kiss, so much softer than the one we’d shared outside of Washington’s classroom—that will never _not_ be weird to think—that I feel the need to deepen it. I do. I don’t notice that I do so until Alexander responds eagerly, gradually moving himself to where he’s straddling me.

He tangles his hands in my hair—it’s all I have to not internally bitch about how long it’s gonna take for me to detangel it—and still manages to not stop for air or break the kiss at all.

It’s when his hands roam to the collar of my shirt that he stops again.

“Are you sure, John?” he asks, and when I don’t respond for a while—I don’t know what it is that I want—he gets up from on top of me, opting to sit next to me. He brushes his hair out of his face again.

“I didn’t say I don’t want to,” I try to explain to him after neither of us speak. He turns to me, brows furrowed in concern and another implacable expression.

“I know you didn’t. But you also didn’t say that you want to. You’re not sure,” Hamilton objects. The statement is clearly loaded—with what, I don’t know.

I stumble for words.

“I know I’m not sure. But that’s kinda just in general with the whole… you know…”

“John.” He says, his voice loud and clear enough that I stop averting his eyes. “I’m not gonna do this with you if you’re not completely, 100% sure that you want to do it, okay? That’s just—that’s just not me.”

I don’t respond.

We go back to not speaking.

The show from earlier ends, the credits scrolling through the screen.

“Can I take a shower?” he asks. I nod, and he disappears into my room. I shut off the television and get a glass of water from the kitchen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- PSA: THIS CHAPTER MAY SEEM BORING BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER IS REALLY GOOD TE PROMETO
> 
> -sorrysorrysorry I know I missed 2 updates, but I really needed the time :(
> 
> -our performances went great, and I'm just resting afterwards and I have easter break in a few days so get pumped!
> 
> -finally! no more rehearsals, no more late updates, no more stressed author :))) thanks for everyone who's still reading! 
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this chapter (and this fic in general) so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #5: when in doubt, think, "what would Alexander Hamilton do?" and do the exact opposite. most times. I'm not held liable for any accidents.
> 
> ~ana ♡


	28. More Angst, Ad Nauseam Part 2 (ft. happiness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape mentions,, not graphic but if you're easily triggered by this, proceed with caution

Once I’ve finished taking my shower, my head is clear. 

That’s a lie, and I know that it is.

I say it to myself in my head, anyway. Mulligan once told me that, if I say that my head is clear enough times, it will be clear. It doesn’t exactly work that way. It’s more like, if I say that my head is clear enough times, it’s all I can think about, so my head’s technically clear of any other thought besides the lie that my head is clear. It’s confusing.

Eventually, I step out of John’s bathroom after staring at my reflection blankly for five minutes, wearing only a towel around my waist and a smaller one draped across my shoulders.

John is laying down on his bed on his back, feet up in the air, running his fingers through some tangles in his curly hair.

“Sorry,” I apologize for tangling it. He looks startled, and sits upright, facing me.

“It’s fine. Not that big of a deal. They’re already almost out, anyway.”

I nod, then go through my duffel bag and pull out a shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in, along with underwear that is _not_ John’s tidy whities.

Once I’ve changed, I crawl into the bed next to John, who is still sitting on top of the covers, seemingly deep in thought.

After a moment of observing him, I say, “Just ask it. Whatever it is you want to know. I’m a fucking open book.”

He turns to me, not bothering to look suprised at how I could read him so easily.

“Alexander, were you… have you been…” John stumbles and trips, trying to avoid the harshness of the word he’s looking for. 

“Yes.” I respond curtly, avoiding the word, as well, for his sake.

“By who? Is that why you were so…”

I nod as he catches on.

“I don’t want you to… not actually say yes, and then have _us_ be ruined. I’d rather wait until you’re ready,” I say. I know I left one of his questions unanswered, and I know he won’t say anything until I answer it, so I decide to. “I was thirteen, and it was a few months after my mother had died. I started working for my landlord and basically earning my living that way, and she let me stay at her place. It was all fine, she had a daughter who was fifteen-ish at the time…” I take a breath and shut up.

“Alexander? Do you not want to talk about it?” John asks when I don’t resume speaking. I shake my head no, unsure of what that answer even meant, but decide that it’s best to just tell him. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I continue.

“I slept in their spare bedroom. One night, she—Carrie, the daughter—came into my room, like, really late. I was confused and startled, and she started kissing me, swearing that she’d seen me crushing on her and that she _'just wanted to give me what all guys want_ '. I didn’t know what to do, so I told her to get off of me. She didn’t listen. She just kept going like she didn’t hear me—“ That’s the end. That’s the place where I stop talking. That’s the place that I can’t bear to go without the possible assistance of hard liquor.

I turn away from him and hear John settle back into a light quietness. He knows that I don’t want to speak about this. He doesn’t make me.

I close my eyes and try to force myself to go to sleep, to just avoid this conversation and all of its consequences, but the light in the room is shining too bright for me to have any hope of falling asleep.

I hear movement next to me and listen as John’s footsteps walk to the side of the room. Within moments, the light is shut off and John is crawling under the covers.

We’re both aware that the other isn’t asleep. I hear the sheets ruffle a little bit, and then John turns away from me. After some more time, he turns back towards me.

“Alexander?”

I twist so I can face him without moving too much, and he leans in and meets his lips with mine. I lean into him a little bit, happy that he’s finally returning some of the fervency I’ve been showing to him.

I pull away eventually, a smile across my face.

“So what does that mean?” I ask him, my voice lower and fainter than I expected.

He bites his lips unconciously, and I almost pull him back to me, but I wait for him to speak.

“I think that it means that I like you a lot, Alexander. I think it means that we haven’t known each other for a while but that I feel good around you. I don’t really know, I know that the odds are against me in particular, but I think that I really like you, Alexander, and I want to be with you.”

I can’t help my smile widening across my lips.

“Good,” I respond, “If not that would kind of fucking suck because I really like you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -you know, I said no more late updates, but it's 10:39 PM on Thursday and I'm just now uploading this chapter, I have no words (well, yes I do, they're all on here)
> 
> -I had a pretty bad day because of so-called "friends" and I was sick, etc., but I was reading some nice comments on this fic & my other fics, and I got super happy and finally decided to finish this chapter and publish it
> 
> -I got the Alexander Hamilton book, I've had it since Tuesday, and I'm currently on page 13 (SMALL TEXT SIZE AND LONG PAGES) and it's so much more insight into Hamilton,, I'm just,, 
> 
> -anyway, I poured my blood, sweat, and pixels into this chapter (and this fic in general) so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> -as always, leave kudos and comment things you want to see happen if you like it or want to see anything new/more!
> 
> -triweekly positivity quote #6: George Washington shipped lams. He was also a slave trader. That shows that you should acknowledge both the good and bad in people and do with that what you will—no one's objectively 'good' :)
> 
> ~ana ♡


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